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FROM   A    NEW   ENGLAND 
HILLSIDE 


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I.    SHAKESPEARE'S    ENGLAND.      By 

~  ."ill-    n  Winter May. 

II.    THE    RIENDSHIP  OF  NATURE.   By 

M->bel  Osgood  Wright      .     .     .     June. 

III.  A  T.<IP  TO  ENGLAND.     By  Gold- 

win  Smith        July. 

IV.  FROM  A  NEW  ENGLAND  HILLSIDE. 

By  William  Potts August. 

V.    THE   PLEASURES  OF    LIFE.      By 

Sir  John  Lubbock September, 

VI.     OLD    SHRINES     AND     IVY.       P.y 

William  Winter        October. 

VII.     THE    CHOICE    OF     BOOKS.     By 

Frederic  Harrison November. 

VIII.     GRAY    DAYS    AND    GOLD.       By 

William  Winter        December. 

IX.    THE  AIMS  OF  LITERARY  STUDY. 

By  Hiram  Corson,  LL.D.     .     .     January. 
X.     THE  NOVEL  — WHAT  IT  Is.     By 

F.  Marion  Crawford     ....     February. 
XI.     AMIEL'S  JOURNAL,  Vol.  I.    Trans 
lated  by  Mrs.  Humphry  Ward.     March. 
XII.     AMIEL'S  JOURNAL,  Vol.  II.  Trans 
lated  by  Mrs.  Humphry  Ward.     April. 


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FROM  A  NEW  ENGLAND 
HILLSIDE 

NOTES  FROM  UNDERLEDGE 


flrfo  pork 
MACMILLAN    AND   CO. 

AND  LONDON 
1895 

All  rights  reserved 


PS 


COPTEIGIIT,  1894, 
BY  MACMILLAN  AND  CO. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped,  January,  1895. 
Reprinted  August,  1895. 


Norfaooti 

J.  S.  Gushing  &  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith 
Norwood  Mass.  U.S.A. 


Can  rules  or  tutors  educate 
The  semi-god  whom  we  await? 
He  must  be  musical, 
Tremulous,  impressional, 
Alive  to  gentle  influence 
Of  landscape  and  of  sky, 
And  tender  to  the  spirit-touch 
Of  man's  or  maiden's  eye: 
But,  to  his  native  centre  fast, 
Shall  into  Future  fuse  the  Past, 
And  the  world's  flowing  fates  in  his 
own  mould  recast. 

—  EMEKSON. 


FROM    A    NEW    ENGLAND 
HILLSIDE. 


I  HAVE  not  spent  October  in  the  country 
for  nearly  forty  years  :  — 

As  one  who  long  in  populous  city  pent, 
Where  houses  thick  and  sewers  annoy  the 
air,  — 

I  roam  among  these  hills  and  look  out  over 
the  valleys  with  quite  indescribable  emo 
tions. 

Tears,  idle  tears,   I  know   not  what  they 

mean, 

Tears  from  the  depth  of  some  divine  despair 
Rise  in  the  heart  and  gather  to  the  eyes, 
In  looking  on  the  happy  autumn  fields, 
And  thinking  of  the  days  that  are  no  more. 

How  fortunate  it  is  that  some  have  been 
gifted  with  the  power  of  expression,  "that 
the  thoughts  of  many  hearts  might  be  re 
vealed."  My  friend  objects  to  Sir  John 

1!  I 


2      FROM    A    NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

Lubbock's  "Pleasures  of  Life"  for  the 
same  reason,  though  not  from  the  same 
cause,  that  the  old  lady  objected  to  Shake 
speare  —  that  it  is  made  up  of  quotations. 
Now  I  wholly  disagree  with  him.  This  is 
a  work-a-day  world,  and  blessed  be  the 
man  with  the  time  and  happy  taste  to 
gather  and  put  before  us  the  choice  bits 
which  reveal  us  to  ourselves. 

The  late  rains  of  summer  after  a  long 
drought  made  the  fields  and  woods  so  green 
that  the  autumn  glory  has  been  long  in 
coming,  but  is  now  spreading  abroad  so 
rapidly  that  one  can  scarcely  keep  pace 
with  it.  The  fields  are  still  full  of  flowers. 
On  Sunday  afternoon  I  noticed  the  follow 
ing  in  one  old  pasture :  Golden-rods  and 
asters  of  various  species,  blind  gentian, 
grass  of  Parnassus,  thistles,  spearmint,  a 
lobelia,  yarrow,  wild  carrot,  brunella,  fra 
grant  ladies'-tresses  (which  White  of  Sel- 
borne  calls  ladies'-traces),  life  everlasting, 
purple  polygala,  thoroughwort,  turtle-head, 
two  kinds  of  knot-weed,  wild  strawberry, 
and  a  yellow  flower  which  I  ought  to  know 
but  do  not.  On  my  way  crer  that  morn 
ing,  I  found  a  spot  glorious  with  the  fringed 
gentians,  and  during  to-day's  stroll  I  found 
them  by  the  hundreds  —  yes,  I  think,  thou- 


FROM    A    NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      3 

sands.  I  will  not  toll  you  where,  for  I 
want  to  keep  that  spot  to  myself. 

I  have  also  found  the  yellow  oxalis,  but 
ter- and-eggs,  dandelions,  oxeyed  daisies, 
cardinal  flowers,  water-cresses,  looking  for 
all  the  world  like  sweet  alyssum,  evening 
primroses,  and  others,  and  yesterday  I  was 
surprised  to  find  the  witch  hazel  in  full 
bloom,  the  yellow  leaves  still  mostly  cling 
ing  to  the  stems,  and  last  year's  seed-ves 
sels  only  turning  brown.  This  is  one  of 
our  most  plentiful  shrubs,  and  I  am  fond 
of  its  quaint  irregularity.  The  hop  horn 
beam  is  another  of  our  favourites  among  the 
shrubs  or  small  trees,  and  these  are  found 
in  company.  A  less  satisfactory  neighbour 
is  the  venomous  swamp  sumach,  lovely  but 
treacherous.  Like  the  fringed  gentians,  — 
and  fishing,  —  it  is  not  to  be  found  just 
here,  but  is  all  around  us,  and  those  who, 
like  myself,  are  susceptible  to  its  malignant 
power,  must  exercise  caution  in  their  inter 
views  with  it. 

The  golden-rods  are  past  their  prime,  but 
this  cannot  be  said  of  the  asters,  unless 
their  mellow  autumn  is  richer  than  their 
summer.  The  roadsides  in  some  places 
are  purple  and  in  others  white  with  them. 

The  chicken  grapes  hanging  upon  hedges 


4      FROM    A    NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

recall  the  spring  fragrance  of  the  blossom 
ing  vines,  which  vie  with  the  ground-nut 
(Apios)  of  later  summer  in  making  scented 
aisles  of  our  pathways.  The  berries  of 
the  bitter-sweet  hang  in  golden  clusters, 
but  have  not  yet  opened  their  hearts  to  the 
breeze,  and  the  red  hips  of  the  wild  roses 
promise  to  be  with  us  all  winter.  Under 
the  trees  the  berries  of  the  mitchella  are 
scattered  thickly  on  the  carpet  formed  by 
the  round  green  leaves  on  the  vines. 

Our  sounds  are  the  sounds  of  the  late 
harvest,  and  this  is  nearly  over.  The  ripe 
corn  is  stacked  in  the  fields,  revealing  gold 
en  pumpkins  galore,  with  certainty  of  un 
ending  pies,  while  here  and  there  a  blossom 
shows  that  the  vigour  has  not  yet  all  gone 
out  of  the  vines.  The  birds  are  mostly 
quiet,  a  catbird,  with  its  noisy  note,  doing 
most  to  attract  my  attention  during  my 
morning  walk.  We  shall  see  and  hear 
more  of  the  birds,  but  the  cheery  songs 
will  only  come  to  us  again  with  the  opening 
spring. 

From  my  window  I  can  hear  the  katy 
did's  iteration  all  day  long, — that  terrible 
insistence,  with  the  counter  denial,  which 
make  you  feel  so  sure  that,  whatever  it 
was  that  was  done  or  was  not  done  in  the 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.       5 

long,  long  past,  we  never  shall  know  the 
truth  of  the  story  while  the  world  endures. 
The  morning  was  bright  and  sunny,  and 
the  hills  and  fields  were  all  aglow.  The 
humming  wires  along  my  way  sent  my 
memory  back  over  more  than  forty  years 
to  the  time  when  the  telegraph,  then  a  com 
paratively  new  contrivance,  was  built  along 
the  high  road  through  my  father's  little 
farm  in  Pennsylvania.  We  youngsters  lis 
tened  to  the  messages  going  through,  as  we 
thought,  and  wondered  that  the  birds  could 
rest  upon  the  wires  with  impunity.  Per 
haps  this  morning  the  wires  were  bringing 
to"  this  peaceful  spot  some  message  of  the 
desolation  which  has  just  been  wrought  in 
the  distant  South.  But  it  is  not  always  so 
peaceful  even  here.  A  month  ago  a  great 
gale  passed  through  and  shattered  some  of 
our  noble  trees,  and  to-day  the  barometer 
has  been  falling,  the  afternoon  has  been 
overcast,  and  we  expect  to  take  our  share 
in  the  common  lot. 

OCTOBER  6, 1893. 


6      FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 


II. 

THE  night  brought  us  only  light  and  re 
freshing  showers,  though  these  were  accom 
panied  by  the  ripening  leaves,  which  fell 
thick  and  fast,  and  strewed  the  ground  this 
morning  with  a  carpet  of  red  and  gold. 
But  the  sun  came  out  between  the  clouds 
with  his  face  washed  clean  for  the  holiday, 
and  brought  back  with  him  the  warmth  of 
summer.  As  I  passed  down  the  village 
street  I  had  to  dodge  the  horse-chestnuts, 
which  have  become  ripe  enough  to  fall,  and, 
bursting  their  burrs  as  they  reach  the  path, 
scatter  shell  and  nut  on  either  side. 

(And  apropos,  as  I  was  writing  this  I  'be 
came  conscious  of  a  bombardment  in  my 
room  at  intervals,  the  cause  of  which  I 
found  in  something  of  the  same  nature. 
Yesterday  I  placed  a  flowering  branch  of 
witch  hazel  above  my  piano.  The  dry  air 
of  the  room  has  rapidly  matured  the  last 
year's  fruit,  and  the  shells  opening  from 
time  to  time  with  a  snap,  send  the  seed 
scurrying  across  the  room  to  find  an  un- 


FROM   A    NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      7 

congenial  resting  place  upon  the  table  or 
floor.) 

This  has  been  a  stirring  and  eventful  week 
with  us.  Thursday  was  the  opening  day  at 
the  school,  and  the  girls  have  been  flocking 
back  by  ones  and  twos  and  threes  and  dozens, 
with  trunks  and  bags  and  bundles,  and  the 
old-time  lumbering  stage  and  baggage  wag 
ons  have  been  kept  employed  to  the  extent 
of  their  capacity.  And  not  only  the  new 
girls,  and  those  not  new  are  here,  but  the 
ancients,  the  old  timers,  the  girls  of  the  past, 
who  come  only  on  account  of  old  attractions 
and  to  meet  each  other  and  to  see  the  new 
girls,  are  here  in  force,  and  have  taken  pos 
session  of  the  pleasant  inn,  and  make  its 
low-studded  rooms  resound  with  their  busy 
chatter. 

Beauty  may  indeed  be  only  skin  deep, 
but  it  warms  the  cockles  of  an  old  man's 
heart  to  see  the  lovely  faces,  and  witness 
the  fulness  of  life  and  boundless  enthusi 
asm  of  these  young  maids.  It  may  be  con 
fessed  that  it  has  a  chastening  effect  upon 
him  of  the  more  muscular  sex  to  see  how 
absolutely  independent  of  any  of  his  kind 
are  all  of  this  body  of  Amazons.  As  he 
takes  his  accustomed  course  along  the 
street  he  shrinks  within  himself,  and  mani- 


8      FKOM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

tests,  quite  involuntarily,  a  half  apologetic 
air  for  showing  himself  unasked  in  such  a 
goodly  company. 

I  must  add  to  my  list  of  flowers  still  in 
bloom  the  slender  gerardia,  which  I  found 
this  afternoon.  My  stroll  took  me  up  over 
the  ledge  and  through  the  rocky  sumach- 
covered  pasture,  where  I  kicked  over  now 
a  yellow  boletus,  and  now  an  Agaricus  cam- 
pestris,  much  the  worse  for  wear,  and  won 
dered  when  our  people  would  realize  that 
they  must  know  mushrooms  as  they  know 
turnips  before  they  eat  them,  and  that  then 
they  could  add  very  freely  to  the  delicacies 
upon  their  tables. 

My  way  led  past  our  own  reservoir,  where 
the  varied  coloured  trees,  climbing  the  hill 
on  the  farther  side,  in  the  full  glow  of  the 
westering  sun,  were  reflected  in  the  water, 
which,  all  of  a  tremor  with  a  passing  breeze, 
mingled  their  shades  in  a  shimmer  as  of 
crinkled  Venetian  glass.  —  How  odd  it  is,  by 
the  way,  that  we  continually  go  to  the  arti 
ficial  to  find  a  simile  for  the  natural  effect 
which  often  so  far  surpasses  it  ! 

Leaving  the  crest  of  Rattlesnake  Moun 
tain  oil  my  left  (how  necessary  it  is  for 
these  hill  towns  to  have  a  Rattlesnake  Hill 
or  Mountain  in  the  neighbourhood  —  1  hope 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      9 

only  as  a  survival  in  culture,  an  evidence 
of  a  past  industry),  and  wandering  along 
the  soft,  sandy  road,  I  came  to  a  tree  where 
the  boys  —  presumably  they  were  boys  — 
had  been  clubbing  chestnuts,  the  prickly 
burrs  of  which  are  now  just  opening.  Of 
course  I  picked  up  a  stick  and  tried  my 
hand  in  the  old  way  —  just  for  a  flyer,  as  it 
were.  And  what  a  flyer  it  was  indeed  !  It 
reminded  me  of  the  way  my  sisters  used  to 
do  it,  only  I  fear  that  the  infrequency  with 
which  the  stick  hit  the  tree  would  have  ex 
cited  the  derision  of  even  those  well-mean 
ing  maidens.  The  baseball  player  who 
would  have  been  able  to  "get  on  to  my 
curves,"  would  have  shown  a  miracle  of  in 
genuity.  The  net  result  of  my  industry 
was  two  chestnuts,  not  by  any  means  ripe, 
I  am  sorry  to  say,  but  chestnuts  neverthe 
less  in  the  making.  "  While  I  was  musing, 
the  fire  burned."  While  I  was  chestnutting, 
the  sun  sank  behind  the  western  hills,  and 
I  hastened  on,  hoping  soon  to  find  my  road 
bending  to  the  right  and  emerging  into  the 
valley.  But  alas  !  what  had  been  a  well- 
beaten  country  road  with  a  stone  wall  on 
one  side,  and  a  fence  on  the  other,  gradually 
changed  into  a  mere  open  cart  track  and 
strayed  away  into  the  woods ;  first  the 


10     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

stone  wall  left  me,  and  then  the  fence  ; 
instead  of  turning  toward  the  valley  I  was 
gradually  tending  around  the  shoulder  of 
the  hill,  and  burying  myself  deeper  and 
deeper  in  the  woods.  "And  all  the  air  a 
solemn  stillness  held,"  a  silence  which 
seemed  no  less  a  silence  though  it  was  full 
of  the  hum  of  crickets  and  other  insects. 
By  the  way,  have  you  ever  lain  awake  at 
night,  even  in  the  depth  of  the  winter,  and 
found  your  ears  filled  with  a  humming 
and  a  rustling,  until  you  wondered  whether 
it  would  be  possible  to  distinguish  any 
other  sound  through  it  all,  and  then  specu 
lated  whether  there  was  really  any  sound  — 
whether  it  was  all  the  music  of  the  spheres, 
whether  it  was  external  to  you,  whether  it 
was  the  rushing  of  your  own  life's  tide 
through  your  blood-vessels,  or  whether  it 
was  after  all  pure  imagination  ? 

The  damp  air  of  the  evening,  like  the 
warm  sun  of  midday,  brings  out  the  pleas 
ant  smell  of  the  fallen  leaves,  and  their 
rustle  under  the  feet  is  agreeable ;  but  I 
feared  lest  I  was  being  caught  in  a  cul-de- 
sac,  or  perhaps  should  be  led  out  into  the 
highway  at  too  many  miles'  distance  from 
home  for  so  late  an  hour.  1  therefore 
retraced  my  steps,  and  was  astonished  to 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      II 

find  the  brightness  of  the  lemon  glow  in 
the  west,  when  I  emerged  from  the  shad 
owy  aisles  of  the  wood,  while  on  the  other 
side  of  me  the  flame-coloured  leaves  of  the 
sassafras  and  the  light  yellow  garments  of 
the  hickories  and  birches,  relieved  against 
their  darker  brethren,  seemed  the  fore 
runners  of  another  day. 

Passing  along  the  road,  here  and  there 
a  warm  breath  from  across  the  drier  grass 
clove  the  cool,  damp  air  of  the  gathering 
twilight ;  the  glow  on  the  sky  changed 
from  lemon  to  deep  orange,  against  which 
the  hills  rested  in  nearly  black  masses  ;  the 
glow  narrowed,  and  above  it  in  surprising 
brilliancy  shone  the  evening  star  like  a 
glittering  gem,  while  in  front  rose  our 
lovely  tapering  church  spire,  of  which  we 
are  proud,  —  that  familiar  finger  post  of 
the  Christian  world  which  we  all  love  what 
ever  be  the  peculiarities  of  our  various 
theories. 

OCTOBER  7, 1893. 


12     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 


III. 

THIS  has  been  a  typical  autumn  day  ; 
glittering  and  cool  in  the  morning  with 
high  wind  ;  thermometer  fifty -six  degrees  ; 
a  clear  blue  sky  gradually  flecked  with 
passing  clouds ;  then  heavier  and  denser 
masses,  becoming  more  and  more  numerous 
until  the  whole  heavens  formed  a  leaden 
vault  in  delicately  shaded  tones,  with  here 
and  there  a  break  from  time  to  time, 
through  which  the  bright  sun  lighted  up 
for  a  moment  the  tinted  landscape. 

I  started  to  explore  the  woodland  road 
wherein  darkness  overtook  me  last  week. 
Passing  through  the  village  street,  the  fra 
grance  of  the  late  apples  carried  me  back 
at  once  to  the  great  show  at  Chicago.  You 
cannot  help  remembering,  if  you  were  not 
so  unfortunate  as  to  have  missed  it,  that 
the  most  refreshing  experience  at  the  Fair 
was  a  walk  through  the  fruit-lined  passages 
of  the  Horticultural  Building,  the  delicious 
odour  of  the  ripe  fruit  appealing  more 
directly  to  your  sense  of  bien-etre  than 


FROM    A    NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      13 

their  magnificent  size  or  gorgeous  colour. 
It  is  well  known,  by  the  way,  that  the 
sense  of  smell  awakens  the  memory  and 
recalls  the  past  through  association  of 
ideas  more  promptly  than  any  other. 

The  road  I  was  travelling  passed,  you 
will  remember,  to  the  westward  of  Rattle 
snake  Mountain.  As  it  buried  itself  deeper 
in  the  wood,  it  likewise  climbed  higher, 
curving  round  and  clinging  to  the  side  of 
the  hill,  here  gently  sloping.  The  fallen 
leaves,  which  were  soft  and  moist  last 
week,  have  now  become  crisp  and  much 
more  numerous.  Who  does  not  delight  in 
scuffling  through  them,  and  in  the  rustling 
sound,  although  this  is  anything  but  musi 
cal  in  the  ordinary  sense  ! 

The  foliage  upon  the  trees  has  been 
thinned  so  much  that  the  hillside  shows 
massive  rocks  hitherto  clothed  with  verd 
ure,  and  from  the  summit  protrudes  in 
bold  relief  the  rugged  core  of  the  moun 
tain.  Curving  more  and  more  to  the  left, 
the  path  emerged  at  length  into  an  open 
field  on  the  yonder  side,  in  the  midst  of  a 
herd  of  cattle  peaceably  grazing  there  ;  all 
around  forest-clad  hills,  a  very  flower-gar 
den  in  colour,  with  a  depression  on  the 
northeast,  where,  in  the  middle  distance, 


14      FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

the  gilded  dome  of  the  Capitol  shone  in  a 
passing  gleam  of  sunlight,  against  the  blue 
hills  on  the  further  side  of  the  great  river. 
Skirting  the  edge  of  the  wood,  which  for 
a  time  shut  off  the  view  of  the  higher 
ground,  the  path  at  length  wholly  deserted 
me  as  I  found  myself  near  the  foot  of  the 
talus  from  the  cliffs  which  formed  the 
summit. 

I  was  left  to  take  my  chances  among 
the  woodchuck  holes,  the  hypothetical  rat 
tlesnakes,  and  upon  the  sliding  fragments 
of  rock.  But  remembering  that  the  latter 
naturally  found  for  themselves  a  position 
of  stable  equilibrium,  I  ventured  upon 
them  with  the  care  which  every  one  is 
bound  to  take  in  such  a  place,  increased 
to  the  nth  power  by  the  reflection  of  the 
cautious  man  upon  the  serious  predicament 
in  which  he  would  find  himself  in  case  of 
a  mishap  occurring  in  an  unfrequented 
locality. 

Clambering  around  among  great  detached 
masses  of  rock  which  stood  out  boldly  midst 
the  trees,  and  speculating  upon  the  possi 
bility  of  in  some  way  scaling  the  highest 
of  these,  I  became  conscious  of  the  pleas 
ant  odour  of  burning  leaves,  but  also 
apprehensive  lest  disastrous  tire  might  bo 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      15 

running  loose  in  the  woods.  Approaching 
a  fissure  among  the  rocks,  however,  I  per 
ceived  a  thin  smoke  issuing  therefrom  and 
learned  the  source  of  the  odour,  and  after 
a  few  minutes  I  came  in  sight  of  two  little 
girls,  to  whom  a  pleasant  "  Good-morning  " 
introduced  me  sufficiently  to  obtain  for  me 
an  invitation  to  go  into  the  "cave,"  where 
Grandpa  had  just  built  a  fire  for  their 
delectation. 

Grandpa  proved  to  be  a  native,  succes 
sor  to  several  generations  of  such,  sturdily 
loyal  to  the  neighbourhood  and  intelligently 
familiar  with  its  localities,  characteristics, 
and  traditions.  The  cave,  which  with  a 
little  labour  might  be  made  into  a  comforta 
ble  enough  residence,  was  formed  of  heavy 
masses  of  basaltic  rock  leaning  against  each 
other,  and  some  hundred  years  ago  it  was 
the  occasional  home  of  one  of  those  "her 
mits  "  whom  tradition  has  scattered  through 
the  land,  —  restless  geniuses,  who,  for  one 
reason  or  another,  found  it  more  to  their 
taste  to  "  go  back  to  nature  ' '  than  to  live 
in  houses  made  with  hands.  This  one  bore 
the  distinction  of  having  left  a  name  be 
hind  him,  and  had  been  personally  known 
to  the  grandmother  of  iny  new  friend. 

My  new  acquaintance  was  quite  an  acqui- 


1 6     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

sition.  By  him  I  was  led  by  a  circuitous 
but  easy  path  to  the  very  highest  point  of 
the  cliff,  which  had  hitherto  been  quite 
concealed  from  me  by  the  wood.  Seen 
from  this  spot  the  horizon  comes  full 
circle,  save  as  slightly  broken  here  and 
there  by  the  very  tops  of  the  most  enter 
prising  trees.  It  was  formerly  selected  as 
a  post  for  the  observations  of  the  coast  and 
geodetic  survey,  and  from  it  the  eye  takes 
in  a  thousand  square  miles  of  valley  and 
rolling  hills.  As  we  stood  on  the  bare 
summit,  it  blew  a  gale  which  it  was  diffi 
cult  to  withstand.  The  sun  was  shrouded 
with  heavy  clouds,  and  the  miles  on  miles 
of  forest-clad  hills,  and  shaded  valleys, 
among  which  the  scattered  fields  seemed 
unimportant,  showed  the  rich  but  soft  and 
subdued  colours  of  a  well-chosen  oriental 
rug.  (Again  that  comparison  of  great 
things  with  small.) 

We  stood  for  a  little  while  bracing  our 
selves  against  the  wind,  and  noting  the 
city  a  few  miles  away,  and  the  scattered 
towns,  becoming  distinct  now  that  the  leaves 
are  falling,  with  hills  and  mountains  in  every 
direction,  none  very  high, — not  more  than 
fourteen  or  fifteen  hundred  feet,  even  in  the 
extreme  distance  ;  but  the  gale  freshened, 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      \J 

and  making  a  mental  note  to  come  and 
come  again  to  this  point  of  vantage,  I  beat 
a  retreat  into  the  more  sheltered  valley. 

I  must  add  to  the  flowers  still  to  be 
found,  the  red  clover,  the  wild  pepper- 
grass,  and  herb  Robert.  I  never  realized 
how  beautiful  the  latter  was  until  I  found 
it  to-day  with  its  delicately  divided  leaves 
and  lovely  pink  blossoms,  emerging  from 
between  and  overlaying  the  basaltic  blocks 
over  which  I  climbed.  I  cannot  say  so 
much  in  favour  of  its  fragrance,  but  this 
was  quite  atoned  for  by  the  catnip  against 
which  I  brushed  on  the  hillside,  and  the 
sweet  fern  through  which  I  waded  near 
the  summit. 

OCTOBER  15,  1393. 


1 8     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 


IV. 

Over  the  river,  on  the  hill, 
Lieth  a  village,  white  and  still ; 
All  around  it  the  forest  trees 
Whisper  and  shiver  in  the  breeze ; 
Over  it  sailing  shadows  go 
Of  soaring  hawk  and  screaming  crow, 
And  mountain  grasses  low  and  sweet 
Grow  in  the  middle  of  every  street. 

Over  the  river,  under  the  hill, 
Another  village  lieth  still. 
There  I  see  in  the  cloudy  night 
Twinkling  stars  of  household  light, 
Fires  that  gleam  from  the  smithy's  door, 
Mists  that  curl  on  the  river's  shore; 
And  in  the  roads  no  grasses  grow, 
For  the  wheels  that  hasten  to  and  fro. 

THUS  sang  Rose  Terry  in  her  cottage 
overlooking  the  river,  and  with  that  vision 
always  before  her,  I  do  not  wonder  that  the 
song  came  to  her.  On  the  steep  hillside  the 
streets  of  white  marble  climb  toward  heaven 
from  the  busy  manufacturing  village,  and 
their  quietness  in  the  broad  glare  of  day 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      19 

contrasts  as  strongly  with  the  bustle  below, 
if  not  so  impressively,  as  under  the  cold  light 
of  the  moon.  My  companion  reminded  me 
of  the  poem  as  our  horses  climbed  the  steep 
road,  and  told  how  the  singer  herself  now 
reposes  (as  to  the  physical  part)  in  that 
village  on  the  hill  where  there's 

Never  a  clock  to  toll  the  hours. 

These  people  are  as  hospitable  as  one 
could  ask  to  find.  Here  comes  a  good  lady 
day  after  day  and  picks  me  up  and  carries 
me  in  the  smoothest  rolling  of  carriages  far 
away  among  the  hills,  from  which  we  can 
look  back  at  our  village  at  long  range,  or 
down  into  new  valleys  or  over  distant  ridges. 
This  time  it  was  past  Mrs.  Rose  Terry 
Cooke's  former  home,  and  by  a  winding 
river  which  tumbled  and  brawled  over  the 
rocks  in  pleasant  fashion,  and  then  upon  a 
broad  summit  whence  we  could  look  over 
toward  a  region  which,  perhaps,  from  its 
contorted  mass  of  hills  and  ridges,  or  per 
haps  from  the  unconventional  habits  or  man 
ners  of  its  denizens  has  earned  from  the 
inhabitants  of  the  neighbourhood  the  not 
too  complimentary  name  of  "  Satan's  king 
dom." 

Here   and    there   still    glows  a  brilliant 


20      FROM   A   NEW    ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

oak  or  maple,  and  now  and  then  we  see 
the  whole  gamut  of  colour  on  a  sunlighted 
hillside,  where  the  green  leaves  of  the 
silver  pines  form  a  soft  background  for  the 
brighter  foliage.  But  many  trees  are  bare, 
and  show  the  full  grace  of  their  lines,  and 
hi  numerous  places  we  see  as  through  a 
thin  veil  the  secrets  which  the  summer  had 
concealed  from  our  eyes. 

I  have  repeatedly  found  myself  after 
nightfall  plodding  along  some  unwonted 
wood  path  iu  the  gathering  darkness  until 
I  have  begun  to  be  apprehensive  lest  I 
might  be  compelled  to  pass  the  night  in  the 
damp,  cool  autumn  air  without  shelter.  On 
the  last  occasion  I  more  than  once  nearly 
gave  up  extricating  myself  before  morning. 
For  these  roads  often  start  bravely  with 
well-beaten  tracks,  but  gradually  show  less 
and  less  evidence  of  use,  and  branch  and 
branch  until  you  are  quite  sure  you  do  not 
know  where  you  are.  And  the  clouds  cover 
the  moon,  and  the  darkness  grows  apace, 
and  the  shadows  deepen  about  you  ;  and 
you  hear  no  sound  save  the  katydids  and 
crickets. 

We  have  miles  of  woodland,  broken  here 
and  there  by  open  fields,  and  none  of  it 
primeval  forest.  Unhappily  the  primeval 


FROM   A    NEW    ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     21 

forest  in  this  region  is  a  thing  of  the  past. 
Once  in  a  while  we  see  a  fine  old  tree, 
usually  in  the  village  streets;  an  elm  or  a 
plane  tree,  a  pine,  a  maple  or  an  oak.  But 
most  of  the  wood  is  "  second  growth,"  or 
more  frequently  a  third  or  fourth  growth, 
and  yet  much  cutting  is  going  on,  and  some 
of  it  is  very,  very  evil.  These  steep,  rocky 
hillsides  can  never  be  made  productive, 
and  the  removal  of  the  forest  covering  will 
merely  destroy  their  beauty  and  lead  to  the 
washing  away  of  the  slowly  accumulated 
soil,  and  the  consequent  demoralization  of 
the  springs.  In  some  places  there  are  indi 
cations  that  former  clearings  are  again  grow 
ing  up  into  wood  but  more  frequently  the 
young  timber  is  being  removed  while  of 
little  value  in  itself.  Occasionally  the  soil 
uncovered  in  the  swales  may  be  readily 
worked  and  made  productive,  but  usually  it 
is  closely  strewn  with  big  and  little  masses 
of  trap-rock  which  will  forever  render 
profitable  cultivation  practically  impossible. 
And  all  the  time  you  are  conscious  that  the 
ground  already  cleared  is  inadequately  tilled, 
and  that  a  wise  economy  would  turn  all  this 
labour  into  another  channel. 

As  I  walked  through  aisle  after  aisle  of 
the  Agricultural  Building  in  Jackson  Park, 


22     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

and  examined  the  products  of  the  great 
western  farms,  and  the  means  by  which 
these  products  were  obtained,  I  wished 
over  and  over  again  that  the  farmers  of 
New  England  could  be  with  me,  and  see 
for  themselves  why  it  is  that  they  do  not 
meet  with  success  in  the  old  style  of  gen 
eral  farming,  and  why  the  competition  in 
which  they  are  engaged  is  necessarily  a 
losing  one,  and  New  England  shows  so 
many  "abandoned  farms."  I  am  sure 
there  is  a  future  for  them,  and  a  pros 
perous  one,  but  it  must  be  under  other 
conditions,  with  a  consideration  of  their 
situation  and  the  character  of  the  market. 
I  thought  a  few  weeks  ago  that  I  had 
gathered  my  last  fringed  gentians,  but  I 
found  a  few  to-day  in  my  special  preserve, 
opened  wide  to  receive  the  comforting  rays 
of  the  sun  after  last  night's  rain.  I  have 
left  many  to  scatter  their  seed  for  next 
year,  and  I  hope  that  the  lovers  of  this 
beautiful  flower  will  learn  to  keep  their  de 
mands  within  moderate  limits,  for  like  the 
mayflower  it  threatens  to  leave  frequented 
neighbourhoods.  It  is,  I  believe,  a  biennial, 
and  not  like  the  mayflower  an  evergreen 
perennial,  and  is  therefore  not  so  great  a 
sufferer  as  that  because  of  the  ruthless 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      23 

dragging  up  by  the  roots  to  which  it  is  ex 
posed  ;  but  I  have  found  a  pair  of  pocket 
scissors  not  inappropriate  in  gathering  it, 
and  would  modestly  suggest  to  others  the 
use  of  such,  both  for  the  fringed  gentian 
and  the  mayflower. 

To  my  list  of  plants  in  blossom  must 
be  added  the  charlock,  the  common  and 
the  French  mullein,  all  found  during  the 
past  week.  But  the  flowers  are  rapidly 
becoming  fewer.  The  asters  are  scarce  and 
even  the  wild  carrot,  which  continues  so 
long  to  adorn  the  fields  and  roadsides  with 
its  beautiful  lace-like  blossoms,  seems  likely 
ere  long  to  fail  us.  As  the  leaves  fall,  the 
orange  berries  of  the  bitter-sweet,  of  which 
we  have  a  profusion,  make  more  and  more 
of  a  show,  especially  now  that  they  have 
opened  and  exhibit  the  deeper  orange  of 
the  ripe  seeds  within,  while  the  red  berries 
of  the  black  alder  gleam  in  the  lowlands 
with  their  wonted  brilliancy. 

OCTOBER  28, 1893. 


24     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 


V. 

I  HAVE  been  re-reading  Ruskin's  "Ele 
ments  of  Drawing."  He  may  be  as  bad  an 
instructor  as  the  art  critics  say,  —  I  think 
perhaps  he  is,  —  but  we  cannot  possibly  do 
without  him.  Who  has  eyes  if  he  has  not  ? 
What  a  love  for  the  facts  of  Nature  !  What 
a  sense  of  the  poetry  of  form  and  colour 
and  motion  !  And  what  a  vigorous  pen  and 
what  strong  muscular  English !  Yes,  and 
what  magnificent  prejudices  and  splendid 
egotism  !  Reject  all  his  instructions,  if  you 
like,  and  take  some  other  course  of  study, 
but  do  not  fail  to  read  and  ponder  all  that 
he  has  to  say  to  you.  And  make  sure  that 
if  you  do  not  look  at  Nature  as  lovingly  as 
he  does,  you  will  never  do  your  best  at 
finding  out  her  secrets  and  revealing  them 
(in  confidence)  to  others. 

By  the  way,  I  do  not  know  anything  else 
so  preposterous  as  the  claim  made  by  some 
who  assume  a  special  love  for  the  spec 
tacle  of  Nature,  of  her  glorious  clouds  and 
sparkling  skies  and  sturdy  trees  and  beau- 


FROM    A    NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.     25 

tiful  flowers,  —  that  you  must  bury  your 
self  in  ignorance  concerning  them,  in  order 
to  estimate  them  at  their  true  value.  With 
great  superiority  they  tell  you  that  they 
want  to  look  upon  the  flowers  and  in 
hale  their  perfume,  not  to  pull  them  to 
pieces  and  find  out  how  they  are  made  ; 
to  watch  the  clouds  rolling  through  the 
heavens,  not  to  know  that  they  are  masses 
of  sun-lighted  vapour,  and  that  the  barome 
ter  is  rising  or  falling.  Is  it  so  easy  to  un 
ravel  the  mystery  of  life  ?  Do  you  have 
but  to  turn  your  hand,  to  discover  that  the 
great  earth  as  well  as  your  small  globe  is 
hollow,  and  that  all  dolls,  big  and  little, 
are  stuffed  with  sawdust  ?  How  petty  the 
awful  universe  must  seem  to  such  people  ! 
Have  they  ever  thought,  after  the  ancient 
poet,  "  When  I  consider  the  heavens,  the 
work  of  thy  hands,  the  moon  and  the  stars 
which  thou  hast  ordained,  what  is  man  that 
thou  art  mindful  of  him,  or  the  son  of  man 
that  thou  regardest  him  ?  " 

I  have  sometimes  watched  those  who 
have  expressed  themselves  as  I  have  above 
indicated,  but  I  have  failed  to  discover  in 
them  any  peculiar  intensity  of  passion  for 
grace  of  form,  glory  of  colour,  smoothness 
of  melody,  or  richness  of  harmony.  I  have 


26     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

failed  to  find  that  they  bared  their  heads 
in  more  reverent  awe  before  the  majesty  of 
the  night,  or  thrilled  with  a  greater  tremu- 
lousness  at  loveliness  of  hue  or  delicacy  of 
structure  or  fineness  of  tone,  —  at  the  rich 
life  of  the  opening  blossom,  or  the  infinite 
expressiveness  of  the  receding  hills  and 
valleys,  fading  away  into  the  vast  unknown 
of  the  distant  horizon. 

I  do  not  mean  that  there  are  not  some 
minds  in  which  interest  in  a  system  or  in 
a  method  of  classification,  takes  the  place  of 
interest  in  the  things  classified.  There  un 
doubtedly  are  such  dry-as-dusts  in  all  de 
partments  of  science  —  in  all  departments 
of  life.  A  member  of  an  important  gov 
ernmental  commission  has  sometimes  de 
scribed  a  colleague  as  "  always  seeming 
more  interested  in  the  papers  in  a  case 
than  in  the  case  itself."  But  this  is  noth 
ing  to  the  point.  It  takes  all  sorts  of  peo 
ple  to  make  up  a  world.  You  cannot  know 
how  much  more  enjoyment  you  could  find 
in  flowers  and  trees  until  you  have  looked 
into  their  history  and  studied  their  faces, 
learned  their  characters,  their  habits  and 
their  dispositions.  You  must  lie  down 
upon  the  same  hillside,  look  up  at  the 
same  sky,  drink  in  the  same  air.  You 


FROM    A    NEW    ENGLAN-D   HILLSIDE.      27 

must  learn  to  feel  your  oneness  with  them, 
and  the  strong  family  tie  which  makes 
everything  that  concerns  them  a  matter  of 
interest  to  you. 

Novalis  called  Spinoza  "  a  God-intoxi 
cated  man."  Intoxication  is  not  a  pleas 
ant  word,  —  enthusiasm  is  better,  —  en-the- 
osiasm,  —  and  it  is  this  enthusiasm,  the  gift 
of  Nature  and  the  imagination  combined, 
the  offspring  of  poetry  and  fact,  —  that  is 
the  greatest,  the  richest,  blessing  of  life.  "  I 
do  not  see  in  Nature  the  colours  that  you 
find  there,"  said  the  lady  to  Turner.  "  Don't 
you  wish  you  couldr  madam  ?"  was  the 
reply. 

Suppose  you  try  to  look  a  little  deeper, 
see  a  little  further,  turn  the  microscope  upon 
your  blossom,  and  discover  a  thousand  beau 
ties,  the  existence  of  which  you  had  never 
suspected ;  turn  your  telescope  upon  the 
heavens,  and  find  them  bursting  into  bloom, 
—  world  beyond  world  receding  into  the 
vast,  unfathomable  depths  of  space ;  be 
lieve  me,  you  will  not  become  blase1  with 
the  extent  of  your  knowledge,  will  not  feel 
that  the  bloom  is  wholly  gone  from  the 
peach,  the  perfume  from  the  rose,  the  foam 
from  the  bounding  wave. 

It  seems   to  me  that   I   have  frequently 


28     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

heard  talk  about"  the  law  of  contradicto 
ries."  I  haven't  the  least  idea  what  "the 
law  of  contradictories"  means,  but  I  think 
that,  without  serious  trouble,  I  could  de 
fine  such  a  law.  Kuskin  says  in  this  vol 
ume  :  "  No  touch  or  form  is  ever  added  to 
another  by  a  good  painter,  without  a  men 
tal  determination  and  affirmation."  The 
same  day  that  I  read  this,  I  read  in  the 
introduction  to  "The  Rosenthal  Method  of 
Practical  Linguistry  "  :  "No  action  can  be 
done  well  which  is  not  done  unconsciously." 
Both  are  true  statements;  this  is  an  illustra 
tion  of  the  many-sidedness  of  life.  If  you 
have  read  the  late  William  M.  Hunt's 
"Conversations  upon  Art,"  you  will  re 
member  that  he  asserts  at  one  moment  the 
diametric  opposite  of  that  which  he  strenu 
ously  insists  upon  at  another.  He  is  right : 
we  must  view  both  sides  of  the  shield,  if 
we  would  know  it  for  what  it  is. 

But  how  can  I  contend  that  that  which 
is  the  result  of  a  mental  determination  can 
be  unconscious  ?  Easily.  The  time  was, 
when  the  act  could  only  be  done  con 
sciously  and  painfully.  But  llu-ii,  as  llos- 
enthal  says,  it  could  not  be  well  done.  It 
must  be  "word  upon  word,  line  upon  line, 
here  a  little  and  there  a  little,"  until  both 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     2g 

mind  and  hand  are  trained,  not  to  do  the 
thing  in  a  perfunctory  way,  but  to  do  it  in 
the  right  way  ;  to  do  one  thing  after  an 
other  because  such  is  the  necessary  order 
and  relation,  as  the  player  upon  a  musical 
instrument  often  does  perfectly,  without 
looking,  that  which  he  would  stumble  over 
horribly  if  he  should  try  to  follow,  note  by 
note,  as  he  did  in  the  times  which  are  past. 
That  which  he  has  learned  has  become 
embodied  in  his  mental  structure  ;  it  is 
now  a  part  of  his  endowment,  like  the 
faculty  of  breathing  or  walking  without 
thought  of  the  process. 

OCTOBER  30,  1893. 


30     FROM    A    NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 


VI. 

THE  frost  this  morning  was  not  by  any 
means  the  lirst  of  the  season,  but  it  was  by 
much  the  most  severe.  The  fields  were  al 
most  as  white  as  if  a  light  snow  had  fallen, 
and  each  leaf  and  blade  of  grass  was  bor 
dered  with  a  delicate  fringe  of  spicular  crys 
tals  and  encrusted  with  a  coat  of  gems.  The 
pools  were  frozen  over,  and  here  and  there 
on  the  roadsides  the  ice  took  curious  curly 
forms  that  seemed  to  defy  explanation. 

My  morning  stroll  took  me  over  the  ledge 
and  the  hilltop,  among  the  sumachs,  cedars 
and  young  oak  trees.  My  object  was  to 
ascertain  whether  the  conical  mountain 
upon  our  most  distant  horizon  is  actually 
that  well-known  peak  which  popular  belief 
asserts  it  to  be.  But  alas  !  it  was  the  old 
story  of  the  sun  and  the  wind  over  again. 
Only  here  it  was  the  delicate  haze  pervad 
ing  the  Indian  summer  air,  which  had  effect 
ually  effaced  the  pile  of  rugged  trap-rock 
of  which  I  was  in  search,  leaving  for  me 
alone  —  but  how  large  an  alouu  !  —  the  glo- 


FROM    A   NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.     3! 

rious  dissolving  view  of  valley  and  distant 
hills  under  the  warm  November  sun. 

From  the  pastures  I  heard  the  cawing  of 
the  crows  ;  upon  a  tree  trunk  near  me  ham 
mered  a  woodpecker ;  afar  through  the 
wood  resounded  the  regular  stroke  of  an 
axe ;  and  the  pleasant  odour  of  burning 
leaves  tickled  my  nostril.  But  alas  !  we 
must  sometimes  pay  dearly  for  our  pleas 
ures.  Yesterday  in  driving  along  a  pictu 
resque  wood  road  among  wild  and  rocky 
hills,  I  crossed  a  line  of  fire,  fully  a  third 
of  a  mile  long,  steadily  marching  through 
the  fallen  leaves,  and  eating  up  in  its  path 
shrubs  and  herbs,  and  the  surface  of  the 
soil  itself,  with  the  upper  roots  and  the 
innumerable  seeds  which  had  been  shed 
upon  it  and  buried  within  it.  Merely  from 
the  wad  from  a  sportsman's  gun  probably, 
but  it  was  wiping  out  acre  after  acre  of 
sylvan  beauty,  damaging  to  some  extent 
the  trees  themselves,  and  leaving  an  ashy 
waste  beneath  them  —  and  all  to  make  an 
American  holiday. 

Then  along  comes  the  brave  woodchopper, 
and  down  go  the  saplings  and  seedlings, 
chestnut  and  oak,  maple  and  beach,  pine 
and  hickory, — and  for  what?  Firewood, 
simply.  Cord  wood  takes  the  place  of  the 


32     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

promising  timber,  which  a  little  judgment 
would  have  left  to  attain  respectable  size, 
when  by  judicious  selection  and  care  it 
might  be  made  to  furnish  a  profitable  an 
nual  crop,  while  the  woodland  should  re 
main  a  beauty  and  a  joy  forever. 

The  wild  flowers  are  now  very  scarce. 
This  morning  I  found  none  but  the  witch 
hazel,  the  golden-rod,  an  aster,  the  wild 
carrot,  chamomile,  and  pepper  grass.  A 
more  extended  and  careful  search  would 
probably  have  been  rewarded  by  buttercups 
and  daisies  (or  white-weeds),  —  among  the 
first  to  come  and  last  to  go,  —  by  yarrow, 
chickweed  and  the  mulleins,  all  of  which  I 
have  found  within  two  or  three  days.  Even 
the  fringed  gentian  showed  a  few  of  its 
lovely  blue  blossoms  in  a  protected  meadow 
only  the  day  before  yesterday,  their  third 
"  last  appearance  "  for  the  season.  Dande 
lions  I  have  heard  of,  but  have  not  seen  for 
several  weeks.  Doubtless  we  shall  have 
them  from  time  to  time  throughout  the  year. 
I  have  found  them  in  the  Brooklyn  park  in 
January  and  February. 

We  have  now  one  of  the  greatest  pleas 
ures  of  which  the  leafy  summer  deprives 
us,  the  sight  of  the  graceful  stems  and 
branches  of  the  trees,  with  all  their  won- 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.     33 

derful  variety  of  angle  and  curve,  of  nigged 
strength  and  graceful  flexibility  ;  the  deeply 
scored  trunks  of  the  strong  and  massive 
oaks,  the  smooth  bark  of  the  beeches,  with 
their  pendulous  branches,  the  sharp  spines 
of  the  honey  locust  —  a  veritable  "monkey 
puzzle  "  or  natural  cat-teazer,  and  the  cork- 
wiuged  twigs  of  the  liquidamber. 

And  over  the  hillsides  is  that  delicate 
warm  glow  of  the  young  branches  of  this 
year's  growth,  which  will  become  richer  as 
the  spring  draws  on,  and  life  comes  nearer 
and  nearer  to  the  surface,  until  a  tender  juicy 
green  spray  overspreads  them  all,  gradually 
shrouding  their  delicate  limbs  from  honest 
as  well  as  vulgar  eyes.  This  beauty  of  the 
trees  comes  to  me  as  a  revelation  each  day, 
"  new  every  morning  and  fresh  every  even 
ing,"  and  I  am  sure  that  we  ought  to  be 
of  finer  stuff  than  others,  who  have  the 
privilege  of  seeing  it,  and  seeing  it  against 
the  limpid  sky,  not  cut  into  squares  and 
triangles  and  trapezes  and  dodecagons  and 
whatnots  formed  by  street  lines  and  house 
roofs,  but  the  very  vault  of  heaven,  resting 
with  the  softest,  gentlest  touch  upon  the 
distant  hills,  and  throwing  over  us  its  wide 
protecting  arch. 

NOVEMBER  11,  1893. 


34     FROM   A  NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 


VII. 

WHEN  I  reached  the  station  last  evening 
on  my  return  after  a  week's  absence,  I 
found  the  ground  covered  with  snow,  and 
the  stage  awaiting  me  on  runners.  The 
heavens  were  shrouded  in  cloud,  a  few 
flakes  were  falling,  and  the  wind  blew 
fiercely.  But  inside  the  closed  conveyance 
we  were  snug  enough  —  eight  of  us;  and 
there  was  an  unwonted  pleasure  in  the  glid 
ing  of  the  craft  over  the  roads  which  had 
recently  been  rather  rough  and  jolting. 

This  morning  the  scene  was  changed. 
Cowper's  lines  very  nearly  describe  the 
situation :  — 

The  night  was  winter  in  his  roughest  mood ; 
The  morning,  sharp  and  clear. 

Indeed,  a  more  perfect  day  for  the  season  I 
do  not  believe  ever  blessed  this  goodly  land. 
About  five  inches  of  snow  covers  the  ground, 
in  some  places  crusted  over  firmly  enough 
to  sustain  one's  weight  by  the  freezing 
after  Sunday1s  rain.  "  White  as  the  driven 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      35 

snow  "  is  the  received  expression  to  describe 
that  which  is  perfectly  spotless,  and  noth 
ing  is  conceivable  which  in  its  kind  could 
be  more  perfect.  Yet  there  is  whiteness  and 
whiteness,  as  there  are  deacons  and  deacons. 
As  the  angle  varies  at  which  you  see  it,  so 
varies  the  light  reflected  from  it,  and  in  this 
gorgeous  sunshine  my  shadow  as  it  precedes 
me  over  the  fields  is  as  deep  and  pure  a  blue 
as  the  artists  would  make  it. 

What  a  friendly  companion  is  this  same 
shadow  !  The  experiences  of  Peter  Schle- 
mihl  appear  perhaps  a  trifle  extravagant, 
and  I  am  not  willing  to  be  responsible  for 
the  statement  that  he  actually  did  at  one 
time  possess  Fortunatus's  purse,  and  con 
secutively  le  nid  invisible,  and  the  seven- 
league  boots  ;  but  I  am  sure  that  he  must 
have  had  one  or  other  or  all  these  to  console 
him  effectually  for  the  loss  of  his  friendly 
shadow.  How  "closer  than  a  brother"  it 
sticks  to  us,  modestly  walking  behind  when 
we  advance  toward  the  sun,  and  throwing 
itself  boldly  in  our  path  as  we  turn  our 
back  upon  the  light !  And  how  ridiculously 
it  imitates  our  slightest  motion,  a  veritable 
monkey  as  a  mimic,  and  with  the  monkey's 
delicacy  of  feature  ! 

It  is  only  upon  the  smooth  lawois  and 


36     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

paths  that  the  snow  spreads  a  spotless, 
unbroken  sheet.  On  the  open  fields  and 
pastures  it  is  broken  by  the  stems  of  the 
wild  roses,  bearing  their  brilliant  red  hips, 
the  hardhack,  the  wild  carrot  which  lills 
its  cup  with  it,  the  fluffy  seed-plumes  of 
the  golden-rods.  The  branches  of  the  trees 
soon  shake  off  its  downy  flakes,  and,  look 
ing  athwart  the  landscape,  the  pure  white 
spaces  form  but  a  minor  part  of  the  whole- 
scene,  broken  by  house  and  fence  and 
woodland,  which  are  clearly  outlined  against 
its  whiteness. 

Clear  as  the  air  is,  —  the  sun  shining  from 
a  cloudless  sky,  —  the  valley  stretching  away 
at  my  feet  in  the  afternoon  becomes  suffused 
with  mystic  light  as  of  Indian  summer,  and 
as  the  day  advances,  the  distant  hills  seem 
to  float  in  a  warm  haze  in  which  they  fade 
away,  carrying  the  eye  to  the  limit  of  vision, 
and  leaving  it  fixed  upon  the  glow  which 
shrouds  but  glorifies  the  far  horizon. 

Near  by,  the  village  spire  is  bathed  in 
the  fading  light ;  no  —  I  should  not  say  fad 
ing  light,  for  the  sun  is  still  above  the 
horizon,  and  the  spire  stands  out  clearly 
against  the  sky.  But  it  is  the  reverse  of 
Wordsworth's  fading  "  into  the  light  of 
common  day,"  —  it  is  rather,  as  it  were.- 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     37 

"trailing  clouds  of  glory  "  that,  lighted  by 
the  sinking  sun,  it  lifts  itself  into  the  air 
above  the  tree-tops. 

And  the  tree-tops  themselves,  those  deli 
cate  sprays  which  now  we  see  prodigally 
scattered  around  us,  as  if  they  were  not 
' '  of  beauty  all  compact, ' '  partake  of  the 
illumination,  and  to  the  very  tips  of  their 
bud-crowned  twigs  thrill  with  the  flooding 
light  of  the  parting  day. 

DECEMBER  6, 1893. 


38     FROM    A   NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 


VIII. 

A  NUMBER  of  my  friends  appear  to  be  in 
a  complete  maze  as  to  what  inducement 
can  be  strong  enough  to  lead  me,  in  the 
dead  of  winter,  to  desert  the  pavements, 
the  trolley  cars,  and  the  throng  of  the  city 
for  the  hilly  dirt-roads,  the  snow-covered 
wood-paths,  and  the  rocky  hillsides  of  the 
country.  A  great  portion  of  our  reading 
and  thinking  people,  or  those  whom  we 
deem  such,  seem  to  have  become  cockney 
to  the  core.  In  nothing  perhaps  is  the 
modern  tendency  toward  urban  life  more 
strikingly  shown  than  in  this  change  of 
mental  attitude  wrought  by  habit  and  asso 
ciation,  this  loss  of  appreciation  of  the  de 
lights  of  rural  life.  I  sincerely  trust  that 
the  wave  has  reached  its  highest  point,  and 
that  ere  long  we  shall  begin  to  see  a  reac 
tion  toward  a  more  healthy  ideal. 

After  the  warm  sun  and  rapid  thaw  of 
yesterday,  I  woke  this  morning  to  find  the 
air  full  of  the  soft  falling  snow,  and  the 
discoloured  track  in  the  middle  of  the  road 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.     39 

again  decently  covered  with  a  veil  of  white. 
The  snow  continued  to  fall  throughout  the 
morning,  not  heavily,  but  steadily,  and 
toward  noon,  covering  myself  with  a  long 
mackintosh,  I  sallied  forth  to  get  the  benefit 
of  it  at  first  hand.  I  took  the  mountain 
road  :  on  the  left  the  ground  fell  away  rather 
gently  to  the  broad  intervale,  while  on  the 
right,  beyond  a  narrow  valley,  at  a  few 
hundred  yards'  distance,  the  hillside  rose 
steeply  to  the  height  of  several  hundred  feet, 
—  here  covered  with  dense  wood,  and  there 
by  scattered  trees  and  rocks,  now  and  then 
accented  by  a  bold  cliff ;  the  ground  all 
robed  in  white,  and  the  trees,  especially  the 
numerous  evergreens,  singly  or  in  groups, 
all  heavily  weighted  with  their  downy  gar 
ments. 

"Fast  fell  the  fleecy  shower."  There 
were  as  yet  only  two  or  three  inches  of  new 
fallen  snow,  and  walking,  though  warm 
work,  was  not  very  difficult,  as  it  would 
have  been  had  the  snow  been  deeper.  Trav 
elling  on  foot  in  heavy  snow,  though  excit 
ing  and  exhilarating,  is  hard  enough  for  a 
man  ;  for  a  woman,  with  skirts,  it  must  be 
something  appalling.  One  of  my  neighbours 
told  me  last  night  how  in  her  girlhood  she 
had  suddenly  been  seized  one  day  with  a 


40     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

desire  to  see  how  the  wood  looked  in  win 
ter.  She  started  alone,  and  had  travelled 
some  distance  from  the  house  before  she 
realized  what  she  had  undertaken.  The 
weather  was  mild,  and  the  snow  was  up 
to  her  knees  ;  but  she  struggled  on,  becom 
ing  hotter  and  hotter,  but  fearing  to  stop 
for  a  moment  to  rest.  The  work  became 
heavier  and  heavier  as  her  strength  dimin 
ished  ;  she  was  a  mile  from  shelter,  and 
discomfort  gradually  gave  place  to  alarm 
and  something  approaching  terror.  There 
was  nothing  to  be  done  but  to  struggle  on 
through  that  unending  lonely  waste,  which 
yet  ended  at  last,  when,  completely  ex 
hausted,  she  found  herself  again  under  a 
friendly  roof.  And  how  did  the  wood  look 
in  winter  ?  Alas  !  she  had  to  confess  to 
her  sisters  that  she  not  seen  the  wood 
through  which  she  had  made  her  way  ;  the 
burden  of  the  walk  had  been  much  too 
great. 

We  see  what  our  minds  are  fixed  upon, 
and  we  consciously  see  little  else.  Occa 
sionally,  I  think,  visions  come  back  to  us 
of  scenes  which  we  luive  not  noticed  at  the 
time,  which  have  yet  in  some  way  recorded 
themselves  upon  the  tablets  of  the  mind. 
But  ordinarily  we  see  and  hear  that  with 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.     41 

which  our  thought  is  concerned.  Have  you 
not  ever  been  in  a  great  factory,  where  the 
whirr  of  the  machinery  and  the  din  of  the 
hammers  filled  the  air  as  though  all  bedlam 
had  broken  loose,  until  it  seemed,  as  the 
common  saying  is,  that  you  could  not  hear 
yourself  think,  and  yet,  after  a  little  time, 
found  that  you  could,  when  you  would,  dis 
criminate  a  particular  sound,  now  one,  and 
now  another,  —  apparently  a  solo  with  an 
accompaniment  ?  Or  in  a  well-balanced 
chorus,  have  you  not  sought  a  certain  voice 
and  followed  it  through  the  labyrinthine 
harmony  ?  So  with  sight,  but  to  a  much 
greater  degree,  and  with  much  more  impor 
tant  and  very  potent  results. 

Tramping  over  the  hills  south  of  the  vil 
lage  a  few  weeks  ago,  on  a  very  sunny 
morning,  my  attention  was  drawn  to  a 
sloping  pasture,  over  which,  as  is  the  case 
with  numerous  others  in  the  neighbourhood, 
there  were  scattered  many  tiny  cedars.  As 
I  have  said,  the  morning  was  sunny,  and 
these  dense  cedar  bushes  cast  dark  shadows 
on  the  hillside.  These  shadows  first  caught 
my  eye,  and  1  was  suddenly  conscious  of  a 
field  covered  with  dark  spots,  without  any 
immediate  conception  of  the  cause.  My 
reason  being  excited  to  activity,  I  at  once 


42     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

realized  the  objects  casting  the  shadows, 
and  as  I  did  so,  the  shadows  themselves  lost 
their  prominence  and  almost  passed  from 
notice.  And  so  for  a  few  moments  I  stood, 
amusing  myself  with  seeing  first  shadow, 
then  object,  then  shadow,  as  my  mind 
turned  from  one  to  the  other,  and  it  was 
only  with  a  certain  effort  of  the  will  that  I 
could  attain  what  might  be  called  a  com 
prehensive  view  of  the  scene,  bringing  its 
various  elements  into  due  relation. 

In  this,  it  seems  to  me,  there  is  a  not 
unimportant  lesson  touching  the  art  of  the 
day.  Art  in  painting  is  Nature  seen  through 
trained  human  eyes,  and  interpreted  by 
skilled  human  hands.  The  human  and  in 
dividual  element  in  it  is  the  essential  ele 
ment,  and  true  art  must  be  as  varied  as 
are  the  individuals  through  whom  it  comes 
to  us.  Just  what  I  see,  my  friend  does 
not  see  ;  and  just  the  impression  that  it 
produces  upon  me  is  not  the  impression 
that  it  produces  upon  him.  But  we  are  the 
servants  or  interpreters,  and  not  the  mas 
ters  of  Nature,  and  we  must  try  to  see 
truly,  in  our  own  way,  and  not  falsely.  Is 
this  what  all  our  artists  do  ?  Is  it  not 
rather  with  many  of  them,  that  they  seek 
for  the  bizarre,  —  for  a  reductiu  ad  absiir- 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     43 

dum?  Receiving  a  certain  impression  from 
Nature  which  they  have  not  noticed  before, 
do  they  not  straightway  fal'  down  and 
worship  it,  and,  forsaking  all  others,  cleave 
only  unto  that,  to  the  destruction  of  their 
art  and  their  own  usefulness  ? 

Monet  looks  at  a  haycock  in  the  broad 
sunlight  of  a  summer's  day,  and  sees  that 
on  the  edges  of  the  grass  blades  the  rays 
of  light  are  broken  into  the  prismatic 
colours  !  Presto  !  the  harvest  field  goes  off 
in  a  blaze  of  theatrical  glory.  The  ninety- 
nine  per  cent  of  the  neutral  tints  are  swept 
into  the  limbo  of  nothingness,  giving  place 
to  a  dust  heap  of  broken  rainbows,  on  a 
crumpled  field  of  crude  pigments ;  and  all 
the  mysterious  soft  intricacy  of  Nature, 
with  its  delicacy  of  suggestion,  its  harmony 
and  repose,  are  gone  forever. 

I  do  not  mean  that  these  men  (I  only 
use  Monet's  name  as  an  instance)  have 
nothing  to  tell  us,  but  merely  that  what 
they  have  to  say  they  tell  in  such  a  way  as 
to  convey  a  false  message  ;  they  sacrifice 
themselves,  their  art,  and  the  interests  en 
trusted  to  them,  by  a  false  perspective. 
They  fail  to  see  truly  through  their  own 
eyes,  or  else  fail  to  report  truly  what  they 
see,  which  latter  is  the  proper  function  of 


44     FROM    A    NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

the  artist,  qualified  only  by  the  proviso, 
that  he  must  always  see  something  fine, 
beautiful,  ennobling,  or  helpful. 

But  I  was  climbing  the  hillside  through 
the  fast-falling  flakes.  Crossing  the  crest 
of  the  ridge  between  the  files  of  hooded 
cedars,  standing  — 

Muffled  and  dumb  like  barefoot  dervishes, 

the  road  wanders  down  across  a  lateral 
valley  through  which  runs  the  "Great 
Brook," — then  climbs  the  hill  beyond, 
sinks  into  another  valley,  and  toils  up 
through  the  closer  wood  towards  the  top 
of  the  ridge.  At  the  crossroads  I  stop  and 
hearken.  There  is  no  wind,  and  not  a  sound 
breaks  the  silence  excepting  the  soft  alight 
ing  of  the  snow,  and  the  dull  rumble  of  a 
train  of  cars  upon  a  railroad  five  or  six 
miles  away.  As  I  listen,  the  latter  fades 
in  the  distance  beyond  the  hills  to  a  scarcely 
perceptible  murmur,  and  nothing  is  left  but 
the  sound  of  the  falling  flakes,  now  grad 
ually  changing  to  sleet,  and  beginning  to 
make  a  Liliputian  rattling  upon  the  crisp 
leaves  of  the  oaks  and  beeches.  Between 
the  trunks  and  branches  of  the  trees  my 
eye  wanders  down  into  the  valley  ;  the 
woodlands,  the  fields,  and  the  lines  of  wall 


FROM    A   NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      45 

and  fence  become  more  and  more  blurred 
and  vague,  and  before  reaching  the  hills 
which  mount  beyond,  sink  into  the  bosom 
of  the  thick  atmosphere  which  shuts  us  in 
from  the  noise  and  bustle  of  the  outer 
world. 

FEBRUARY  9,  1894. 


46     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 


I  AM  a  thorough  believer  in  temperance. 
Perhaps  temperance  is  a  more  or  less  elas 
tic  term.  It  is  universally  understood  that 
this  climate  of  ours  is  a  temperate  climate. 
Yesterday  morning  the  thermometer  stood 
at  five  degrees  below  zero  ;  this  morning  it 
stood  at  forty-five  degrees  above.  It  is  in 
averaging  these  that  you  find  the  temper 
ance.  Temperance  seems  to  require  an 
accent,  and  the  accent  yesterday  morning 
was  quite  sharp. 

"Give  me  neither  poverty  nor  riches," 
was  the  prayer  of  Agur.  And  we  all  say 
Amen,  —  but  sometimes  we  find  the  accent 
too  low,  and  sometimes  too  high  — though, 
to  tell  the  truth,  we  rarely  notice  the  latter. 
Each  of  us,  at  least,  is  sure  that  Agur  was 
quite  sound  when  he  continued,  "Feed  me 
with  food  convenient  for  me."  About  this 
there  is  no  mistake,  and  we  know  what  is 
convenient. 

And,  after  all,  I  am  convinced  that  when 
we  have  gone  the  round  of  a  goodly  assort- 


FROM    A   NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.     47 

mont  of  viands,  there  are  certain  stand-bys 
which  are  pretty  sure  to  be  acceptable  day 
in  and  day  out ;  and  roast  beef  is  very 
good  as  a  steady  diet,  if  only  now  and  then 
we  can  have  just  a  soup<jon  of  horseradish 
to  make  the  accent.  In  media  tutissimus 
ibis,  but  we  hardly  know  how  much  we 
are  enjoying  ourselves  there  unless  now  and 
then  we  have  an  opportunity  to  knock  our 
shins  against  the  curbstone  on  one  side  or 
other  of  the  path. 

Homekeeping  youth  have  ever  homely  wits, 

and  in  the  endeavour  to  avoid  this  reproach 
in  my  own  case,  I  once  upon  a  time  made 
a  voyage  to  the  Bermudas.  And  such  a 
voyage  !  Was  it  ever  your  fortune  to  cross 
the  Gulf  Stream  in  January  or  in  February 
on  board  the  Trinidad  or  the  Orinoco?  If  it 
was,  nothing  more  needs  to  be  said.  Since 
that  time,  when  I  have  made  the  stormy 
passage  in  the  frail  ferry-boats  between 
New  York  and  Brooklyn,  or  risked  the 
waves  of  the  wild  Atlantic  on  the  way  to 
Staten  Island,  I  have  thought  of  the  revolu 
tionary  efforts  of  that  other  craft  in  the 
Sargasso  Sea,  and  have  contented  myself 
with  the  spice  of  memory  as  a  sufficient 
flavour  for  the  mild  joys  of  the  present. 


48     FROM   A   NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

And,  if  need  be,  I  am  sure  that  it  will 
last  me  for  my  time.  Have  I  not  been  in 
foreign  parts  ?  Have  I  not  lived  under 
strange  skies  and  looked  upon  strange 
waters  ?  And  what  waters  !  Ah  !  when  I 
remember  that  first  hour  in  Castle  Harbour, 
after  the  terrible  voyage,  it  seems  to  me 
that  I  then  attained  the  impossible.  If 
that  actually  was,  there  was  nothing  which 
might  not  be.  The  common,  every-day 
world  was  no  more,  for  I  was  in  Shake 
speare's  "still  vex'd  Bermoothes." 

By  the  way,  is  it  not  odd  that  we  are  in 
the  habit  of  placing  the  scene  of  "  The  Tem 
pest  "  in  the  Bermudas,  when  that  is  almost 
the  one  sole  spot  of  all  the  globe  which 
Shakespeare  excludes  ?  Ariel  says  :  — 

Safely  in  harbour 
Is  the  king's  ship;  in  the  deep  nook,  where 

once 

Thou  call'dst  me  up  at  midnight  to  fetch  dew 
From  the  still-vex'd  Bermootlies,  there  she's 

hid: 

The  mariners  all  under  hatches  stow'd  ; 
Whom,  with  a  charm  join'd  to  their  suffer'd 

labour, 
I  have  left  asleep;  and  for  the  rest  o'  the 

fleet, 

Which  I  dispers'd,  they  all  have  met  again, 
And  are  upon  the  Mediterranean  llote, 
Bound  sadly  home  for  Naples. 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.     49 

But  it  doesn't  mako  any  difference  ;  we 
know  that  we  are  on  the  island  of  the  wise 
Prospero  and  the  gentle  Miranda  ;  we  hear 
Ariel,  that  tricksy  spirit,  in  the  tamarisk 
trees  among  the  ragged  rocks  by  the  beach, 
singing :  — 

Come  unto  those  yellow  sands, 

And  then  take  hands : 

Court'sied  when  you  have,  and  kiss'd 

(The  wild  waves  whist,) 

Foot  it  featly  here  and  there ; 

And,  swuot  sprites,  the  burden  bear. 


Full  fathom  five  thy  father  lies ; 

Of  his  bones  are  coral  made ; 
Those  are  pearls  that  were  his  eyes ; 

Nothing  of  him  that  doth  fade, 
But  doth  suffer  a  sea  change 
Into  something  rich  and  strange. 
Sea-nymphs  hourly  ring  his  knell ; 
Hark !  now  I  hear  them,  —  ding-dong  bell ! 

And  we  are  just  as  sure  that  Caliban 
made  his  home  in  the  Devil's  Hole  as  we 
are  that  his  dam's  god  Setebos  once  ruled 
the  island.  It  is  simply  impossible  to  real 
ize  that  you  are  on  a  part  of  the  common 
work-a-day  world.  The  shell  roses  and 
freesias  bloom  at  your  feet ;  the  rich  bou- 
E 


50     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

gainvillea  drapes  your  doorway  ;  royal 
palms  wave  over  your  path  ;  the  loveliest 
maiden-hair  ferns  hangs  a  curtain  at  the 
roadside  ;  under  the  pearly  waves  the  corals 
blossom,  and  around  you  stretches  a  waste 
of  waters  —  a  million  square  miles  with 
out  solid  land  so  much  that  a  fly  could  rest 
his  foot  upon  it.  And  as  you  listen  to  the 
wind  blowing  against  your  upper  window  at 
the  Hamilton,  you  momentarily  expect  the 
whole  mysterious  structure  to  sink  beneath 
you  :  — 

And,  like  this  insubstantial  pageant  faded, 
Leave  not  a  rack  behind. 

But  this,  you  will  think,  is  not  that  tem 
perance  of  which  I  spoke.  Ah  !  but  it  is 
the  spice,  the  nectar,  the  little  touch  of 
pure  colour  among  the  neutral  tints  which 
brings  the  whole  together  and  makes  every 
most  insignificant  part  as  essential  as  every 
other.  Do  1  want  Burgundy  every  day  ? 
Must  I  go  from  birds  of  paradise  to  night 
ingales'  tongues ;  seek  for  turbot  in  the 
pools  in  the  intervale,  and  gather  manna 
from  the  top  of  Rattlesnake  Mountain  ? 
Nay.  Tartarin  may  go  hunt  his  lions  in  the 
desert  or  creep  upward  upon  the  arete  of 
the  Weisshorn  or  the  Matterhorn,  but  I  —  I 


FROM    A    NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      5! 

have  seen  the  world.  Henceforth  I  may 
rest  at  Underledge,  looking  out  upon  the 
valley.  I  know  that  the  river  runs  fast 
between  its  banks,  though  the  elms  and 
maples  quietly  stand  guard  by  its  side  and 
conceal  it  from  iny  view ;  the  snow  lies 
white  over  the  fields,  and  beyond,  the  hills 
climb  skyward  to  meet  the  brave  cloud 
fleets  sailing  the  ocean  blue.  Softly  the* 
retreating  lines  sink  into  each  other  in  the 
gray  distance  ;  no  musical  note  reaches  my 
ear.  I  only  catch  the  distant  bark  of  a  dog 
or  the  crowing  of  a  cock ;  but  I  close  my 
eyes,  and  lo !  the  angel  fish  sparkle  in  the 
pools  at  Westover  ;  the  roses  bloom  again 
by  my  side,  and  the  air  is  rich  with  their 
perfume  ;  the  waters,  emerald  and  gold  and 
turquoise,  lap  the  sands  at  my  feet,  and  I 
hear  Ariel  singing  :  — 

Where  the  bee  sucks,  there  suck  I ; 

In  a  cowslip's  bell  I  lie ; 

There  I  couch  when  owls  do  cry. 

On  the  bat's  back  I  do  fly 

After  summer,  merrily: 

Merrily,  merrily,  shall  I  live  now, 

Under  the  blossom  that  hangs  on  the  bough. 

FEBRUARY  18,  1894. 


52     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 


X. 

BY  the  force  of  circumstances  I  was 
obliged  to  spend  in  the  great  city  the  day 
dedicated  to  the  memory  of  the  Father  of 
his  country,  and  having  much  writing  to 
do,  I  spent  the  greater  part  of  the  day  at 
the  club. 

And  what,  of  its  kind,  could  be  pleas- 
anter  ?  I  may  take  mine  ease  in  mine  inn, 
but  where,  excepting  by  his  own  fireside, 
can  one  so  thoroughly  take  his  ease,  and 
feel  so  completely  how  good  life  is,  as  he 
can  in  the  library  of  his  club,  —  provided  his 
club  is  our  club  ?  Around  him  are  ranged 
tier  above  tier  the  goodly  volumes  to  which 
he  may  refer  if  necessity  require  ;  upon  the 
desk  before  him  are  all  the  conveniences 
for  his  labour  ;  the  temperature  is  just  right ; 
the  light  falls  over  him  broadly  and  softly  ; 
the  admonition  to  "silence"  faces  all  as 
they  enter  the  room  ;  the  heavy  carpet  and 
rugs  deaden  the  footfalls  ;  and  as  the  stu 
dent  from  time  to  time  raises  his  eyes,  they 
rest  here  and  there  upon  the  poet,  the 


FROM    A   NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      53 

painter,  the  musician,  the  divino,  the  man 
of  affairs,  each  at  home  and  each  an  equal 
citizen  of  this  true  republic,  following  the 
bent  of  his  own  inclination  quietly  and  un 
disturbed. 

When  my  stint  had  been  accomplished, 
and  the  time  for  relaxation  had  arrived, 
soothed  by  the  sense  of  leaving  a  completed 
task,  what  reward  could  possibly  be  more 
inviting  than  a  soft  easy-chair  beside  an 
incandescent  lamp,  and  the  latest  instal 
ment  of  the  serial  story  for  which  we  all 
impatiently  wait  from  month  to  month  ? 

In  these  latter  days  we  have  heard  much 
of  naturalism,  and  especially  of  naturalism 
in  fiction,  and  there  seems  to  have  been  a 
very  strong  assumption  upon  the  part  of 
many  that  naturalism  is  necessarily  nasty. 
I  repudiate  the  thought  with  all  the  vigour 
of  my  being.  Nature  is  pure,  and  nothing 
can  compare  for  naturalism  with  purity. 
Give  us  the  blue  skies,  the  fresh  winds,  the 
sturdy  trees,  the  dainty  flowers,  the  bright 
clean  souls  and  loving  hearts. 

"f  is  as  oasy  now  for  the  heart  to  be  true 
As  for  grass  to  be  green  or  skies  to  be  blue, 
"Tis  the  natural  way  of  living. 

Let  us  drink  deep  draughts  of  this  natu- 


54     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

ralism,  —  we  can  ask  nothing  hotter.  But 
do  not  forget  to  flood  it  with  the  glow  of 
imagination  ;  that  also  is  natural,  and  the 
highest  thing  in  Nature,  —  anil  Zola  himself, 
deep  as  lie  may  burrow,  dare  not  venture 
to  despise  it. 

We  often  complain  of  the  unsatisfactori- 
ness  of  reading  serial  stories,  but  there  is 
something  to  be  said  on  the  other  side.  It 
is  somewhat  in  these  as  in  the  romances  of 
our  own  lives,  and  the  lives  of  those  whom 
we  see  around  us  ;  we  are  present  and  ob 
servant  while  character  and  fate  are  making, 
and  from  month  to  month  we  await  the 
unfolding  of  the  drama,  as  we  wait  in  sus 
pense  for  the  thing  that  shall  be.  The 
members  of  the  cast  have  taken  their  places 
upon  the  stage ;  the  curtain  is  up,  —  the 
action  proceeds.  What  is  to  be  the  fate  of 
these  new  friends  of  ours  ?  Let  us  not  an 
ticipate  ;  let  us  wait  and  see. 

In  the  evening  I  looked  upon  quite  a 
different  scene.  The  Neighbourhood  Guild 
in  the  sister  city  had  a  little  entertainment 
in  honour  of  the  day  at  its  modest  home 
down  near  where  they  build  the  big  ships 
which  carry  the  nation's  flag  over  the 
broad  seas.  When  the  time  for  refresh 
ments  came,  there  were  seated  at  the  tables 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     55 

perhaps  a  hundred,  of  all  ages  and  both 
sexes,  gathered  from  homes  where  comfort 
abounds,  where  friends  and  books  and  pict 
ures  and  meat  and  drink  can  be  had  when 
they  are  wanted,  and  from  homes,  some  of 
which  can  perhaps  be  identified  as  such 
only  by  remembering  the  saying  that 
"  home  is  where  the  heart  is."  And  per 
haps  in  some  of  these  places  —  who  knows  ? 
—  even  that  redeeming  feature  may  be 
wanting.  But  here  all  were  on  common 
ground,  and  good  fellowship,  contentment 
and  happiness  shone  on  every  face. 

The  presiding  officer  at  the  simple  feast 
was  one  still  young,  from  a  neighbouring 
home,  who  a  few  years  ago,  when  the  en 
terprise  took  form,  was  among  the  first  to 
accept,  rather  distrustfully,  the  invitation 
of  those  who  had  ventured  to  invade  the 
region.  Now,  thoroughly  imbued  with  its 
spirit,  he  is  one  of  the  strongest  of  the  con 
necting  links  in  this  social  chain. 

"  But,"  says  my  good  friend  Blondin  at 
the  club,  "  you  have  convicted  yourself  with 
your  own  pen.  You  have  been  lauding  the 
Arcadian  life  at  Underledge  and  inviting 
us  to  leave  our  comfortable  clubs  and  our 
municipal  experiments  and  follow  you  out 
among  the  hypothetical  shepherds  oil  your 


56     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

dreary  hills  ;  but  now  you  have  been  com 
pelled  to  flee  to  the  city,  and  under  the  in 
evitable  revulsion  of  your  feelings  you  are 
obliged  to  paint  in  glowing  colours  the  very 
advantages  which  we  are  constantly  holding 
up  to  your  view.  What  have  you  to  say  to 
this?" 

Just  this,  0  Blondin,  I  reply.  Though  I 
have  sought  the  fields,  the  woods  and  the 
hills,  I  have  not  therefore  deserted  your  club, 
and  my  club,  have  I  ?  Nor  have  I  ceased 
to  be  one  of  those  who  are  at  home  at  the 
Guild,  one  whose  co-operation  is  as  wel 
come  there  as  in  the  Current  Topics  Club 
at  Underledge.  But  this  is  not  the  whole. 
There  is  a  time  for  all  things  under  the  sun. 
And  there  is  social  life,  culture  and  enjoy 
ment  even  at  Underledge. 

Yesterday  the  wind  came  out  of  the  north, 
and  it  waxed  high,  and  the  mercury  fell,  and 
it  fell,  and  it  fell.  But  the  stars  were  in  the 
.sky,  and  we  all  gathered  at  the  town  hall,  for 
there  the  Troubadour  was  to  recite  stories  to 
us,  and  to  sing  to  us  the  Creole  songs.  And 
he  told  us  about  the  charming  Nareisse  and 
his  wonderful  skill  in  Chi-og-aphy,  and  phy 
siognomy,  and  how  he  ever  abstained  from 
borrowing  (a  gaudiK),  and  how  fond  he  was 
of  gay  clothing ;  but  also  how  he  weut 


FROM    A    NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      57 

bravely  to  his  death  at  last,  one  of  the  innu 
merable  offerings  upon  the  altar  of  the  lost 
cause.  And  he  told  us  how  the  coy  Widow 
Kiley  was  won  at  last.  And  we  heard  the 
drum  beat  once  more,  and  we  that  were  old 
enough  remembered  anew  those  long  and 
weary  days  and  nights  which  seemed  as 
though  they  would  last  forever,  but  which 
are  now  so  far  away  in  the  past  that  the 
young  folks  around  us  can  look  upon  them 
as  they  can  upon  the  times  of  Cambyses  and 
Alexander. 

And  then  he  ended  with  the  story  how 
Mary  made  her  way  through  the  lines  in  the 
darkness  of  the  night,  whereat  Phillis  and 
1'hollis  honestly  bubbled  over.  And  then 
we  four  went  out  under  the  stars,  and  the 
heavens  were  all  covered  from  the  zenith 
to  the  horizon  with  mystic  lambent  flames, 
which  pulsed  and  flashed  and  throbbed  and 
glowed,  while  we  stood  and  watched  them 
with  wonder  and  awe.  To  Phollis  it  was, 
moreover,  a  revelation  ;  for  the  first  time 
she  gazed  upon  this  splendour. 

Then  we  passed  on  to  the  temple  of  learn 
ing,  but,  behold  !  the  door  was  shut  both 
to  the  foolish  virgins  and  the  foolish  men. 
And  so  we  wandered  along  the  slippery 
way,  in  the  face  of  the  icy  blast,  which  was 


58     FROM   A    NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

not  so  very  cold  after  all,  though  the  ther 
mometer  was  at  five  degrees  above  zero  (it 
was  at  six  degrees  below,  this  morning), 
until  we  reached  the  hospitable  portal  of 
Madame  Liquidambar,  which  Mademoiselle 
quickly  opened  to  us. 

And  there  we  found  a  fire  of  logs  blaz 
ing  upon  the  hearth,  around  which  we  all 
gathered,  and  the  Troubadour  discovered  a 
guitar,  which  he  strung,  and  upon  which  he 
played  while  he  sang  the  song  of  Suzette, 
and  then  another  and  another  and  another, 
until  it  was  quite  time  for  us  to  start  if  we 
were  to  get  home  with  the  girls  before  the 
morning. 

And  Phollis  asked  why  it  was  that  the 
Scribe  always  seemed  so  happy,  and  the 
Scribe  could  not  tell  for  the  life  of  him, 
unless  it  was  because  he  enjoyed  so  many 
things,  and  enjoyed  them  so  much. 

FEBRUARY  24,  181)4. 


FROM    A   NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.     59 


XI. 

EIJKEKA  !  Shall  I  say  it  ?  Nothing  less 
would  seem  appropriate  after  the  mile  upon 
mile  that  I  have  rambled  and  scrambled  and 
tangled  this  afternoon  in  search  of  the  trail 
ing  arbutus.  I  have  been  in  the  most  proba 
ble  places,  and  I  think  that  I  may  frankly 
say  in  the  most  uncomfortable.  The  climax 
was  capped  when  I  found  myself  upon  a 
hillside  in  the  midst  of  a  wood  of  shrubs 
and  saplings,  over  which  fire  had  evidently 
passed  within  a  few  years,  so  weakening 
the  young  trees  that  they  had  subsequently 
fallen  under  the  stress  of  storms,  and  lay 
crossed  in  all  directions,  with  frequent  briars 
among  them,  as  always  happens  after  a  fire 
in  the  wood.  Once  caught  in  such  a  tangle, 
progress  seems  almost  hopeless,  and  no  in 
ducement  is  offered  to  return.  In  that  di 
rection  you  know  it  is  bad  ;  there  is  always 
something  to  be  hoped  for  in  the  unknown. 
And  so  I  struggled  onward,  tripping  and 
slipping,  the  twigs  springing  back  and  strik 
ing  my  glasses,  the  thorns  clinging  to  me 


60     FROM    A    NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

closer  than  a  brother.  But  even  such  un 
comfortable  places  as  these  have  a  boun 
dary,  and  that  boundary  I  reached  at  last, 
and  I  breathed  freely  and  would  have  felt 
wholly  repaid  had  I  but  found  what  I 
sought. 

But  courage  !  Just  over  there,  upon  that 
southward  facing  wooded  slope,  is  the  spot 
of  spots  for  the  vine  that  I  seek.  And 
again  a  climb  and  a  scramble,  and  while 
clinging  to  the  rocky  and  precipitous  hill 
side  I  find  a  bit  of  saxifrage  with  its  whorl 
of  green  leaves,  crowned  with  a  little  but 
ton  of  white  flowers,  just  coming  into  bloom, 
and  nestling  snugly  close  to  the  ground,  not 
proudly  standing  erect  upon  a  six-inch  stem, 
as  it  would  have  been  a  littde  later,  if  I  had 
not  plucked  it  out  of  the  crevice  in  the  rock 
and  carried  it  off  home.  And  here  is  our 
sole  cactus,  the  prickly  pear,  not  in  bloom, 
but  almost  looking  as  if  it  were,  sonic  of 
the  fleshy  lobes  having  a  bright  pink  tinge. 
I  pulled  up  two  or  three  specimens  to  bring 
with  me,  to  the  decided  detriment  of  my 
lingers,  and  had  to  spend  most  of  the  re 
mainder  of  the  afternoon  in  pulling  out  the 
prickles,  which  engaging  occupation  I  trans 
ferred  to  Cara  mea  when  I  intrusted  one  of 
the  Tartars  to  her  at  the  tea  table. 


FROM    A   NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      6 1 

But  this  was  not  the  mayflower,  and  there 
below  me  wound  the  river,  and  yonder  was 
the  bridge  which  should  bear  me  over  the 
first  limb  of  the  horseshoe  (if  horseshoes 
have  limbs.  What  is  it  that  horseshoes 
have,  — arms  or  limbs  ?).  I  took  my  way 
homeward,  mourning,  for  I  had  not  found 
it,  and  the  day  was  overcast,  and  the  sun 
was  shrouded  in  gloomy  clouds,  and  gener 
ally  speaking  my  cake  was  dough. 

Up  in  my  own  wood  this  morning  I 
gathered  a  little  cluster  of  hepaticas,  — 
squirrel  cups,  I  like  to  call  them,  —  blue  and 
white,  and  as  dainty  as  you  could  possibly 
think.  They  made  their  appearance  a 
fortnight  ago,  while  the  snow  still  lingered 
in  shady  places  on  the  northern  slopes,  so 
early  that  Phollis  said  they  could  not  vent 
ure  out  without  their  furs  on,  the  dear  little 
things.  The  columbines  are  showing  their 
leaves,  and  the  dogstooth  violets  and  a  few 
others,  but  excepting  the  symplocarpus 
(the  euphemistic  name  of  the  skunk-cab 
bage)  and  the  chickweed,  I  have  seen  no 
other  wild  herbs  in  blossom.  Of  trees  and 
shrubs  there  are  a  number,  the  maples,  the 
elms,  etc.,  but  most  of  the  vegetable  family 
are  biding  their  time  well.  They  were  not 
beguiled  by  the  lovely  days  of  early  March, 


62      FROM    A    NK\V    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

and  here,  at  least,  the  bitter  winds  of  a  week 
ago  found  few  victims. 

As  I  tramped  across  the  fields  this  after 
noon  and  looked  at  the  evidences  of  the 
patient  toil  that  had  been  spent  in  prepar 
ing  them  for  the  production  of  the  scanty 
crops  which  can  now  be  wrung  from  them, 
I  wished  that  some  of  our  closet  philan 
thropists  who  are  very  wise  upon  the  sub 
ject  of  taxes  —  in  books  and  speeches  —  and 
who  talk  glibly  on  the  relation  of  land  and 
improvements  and  the  unearned  increment, 
would  just  once  in  awhile  take  to  the  coun 
try  and  look  at  the  thing  itself.  (I  am  sure 
that  I  am  talking  quite  correctly,  and  in  the 
true  orthodox  philosophical  fashion,  when 
I  say  "das  ding  an  sich.")  Here  island 
which,  with  the  buildings  upon  it,  might 
bring  in  the  market  perhaps  fifteen  dollars 
per  acre.  To  say  that  labour  to  the  extent 
of  fifty  dollars  per  acre  had  been  expended 
upon  it  to  fit  it  for  the  pasturage  or  other  ser 
vice  that  is  now  obtained  from  it,  in  clear 
ing  it  of  trees  and  shrubs,  in  removing  and 
piling  up  the  stones  in  long  walls  and  heaps, 
or  in  digging  great  holes  and  trenches  in 
which  to  bury  them  —  which  is,  I  find,  a 
favourite  way  here  of  getting  rid  of  them  — 
would  be  to  make  a  very  modest  statement. 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.     63 

And  this  is  what  the  groat  leader  of  this 
school  considers  an  immaterial  item  ;  the 
improvements  upon  land  are  the  buildings. 
Well,  what  these  buildings  cost,  I  do  not 
know.  People  live  in  some  of  them  and 
house  their  cattle  in  others.  I  am  quite  sure 
that  upon  some  farms  the  cattle  have  the 
better  time.  I  have  been  in  three  or  four  of 
the  houses.  When  I  started  out  last  summer 
I  thought  that  I  wanted  an  "abandoned 
farm."  I  did  not  take  one. 

But  this  is  a  side  issue.  Did  you  hear 
the  frogs  to-day  ?  Not  the  great  croakers 
with  their  hoarse  voices  calling  out  strange 
threats  to  frighten  small  children,  but  the 
musical  little  fellows,  singing  in  all  the 
swampy  places  that  ' '  Spring  has  come  ! ' ' 
"  Spring  has  come  !  "  "  Spring  has  come  !  " 
I  heard  them  first  less  than  two  weeks  ago, 
and  their  cheery  note  was  as  inspiring  as 
that  of  the  birds. 

And  the  birds  are  here  too, — the  blue 
bird  and  the  song  sparrow,  the  robin  and  the 
red-winged  blackbird,  and  a  host  of  others, 
making  merry  early  in  the  morning  and 
late  in  the  day,  and  I  dare  say  going  a-court- 
ing  as  young  folks  will.  About  the  house, 
Chanticleer  and  Mrs.  Chanticleer,  or  the 
Mesdames  Chanticleer,  have  changed  their 


64     FROM    A   NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

note,  and  the  lady  vociferously  tells  the 
whole  town  what  she  has  been  about,  "so 
early  in  the  morning." 

Ah,  well  —  one  generation  passeth  away 
and  another  conieth,  and  if  the  future  is 
not  for  us,  but  for  those  that  are  to  follow, 
is  there  anything  sweeter  in  life  than  to  try 
to  make  the  world  wholesome  and  lovely  to 
live  in,  and  to  give  the  newcomers  a  fair 
start  upon  their  journey  onward  and  up 
ward  ? 

APRIL  1,  1894. 


FROM    A   NEW    ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     65 


XII. 

OUR  old  village  cherishes  its  comparative 
seclusion,  and  it  has  been  with  somewhat . 
jealous,  though  withal  kindly  feelings,  that 
it  has  listened  for  the  past  year  to  the  more 
or  less  audible  murmurs  of  a  proposed  in 
vasion  by  the  all-conquering  "trolley." 
Should  we  lose  our  rather  distinctive  char 
acter  as  a  place  apart,  an  old-fashioned  New 
England  village  of  farmer-folk,  where  once 
in  the  days  of  stage  coaches  and  post-roads, 
merchandizing  was  active,  but  which  in  the 
new  railroad  era  had  been  left  as  an  aside, 
dedicated  to  studious  repose,  and  freedom 
from  the  world's  annoy  ?  This  was  not  an 
unimportant  question  to  many,  both  of  such 
as  were  to  the  manor  born  and  had  grown 
up  with  the  place,  and  such  as  had  been 
beguiled  hither  by  the  characteristics  by 
which  it  is  marked.  Our  school,  which  has 
been  for  many  years  under  one  successful 
management,  insomuch  that  it  is  famed 
throughout  the  land,  is  our  joy  and  our 
pride,  even  if  we  do  not  all  quite  realize  it, 


66     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

and  we  view  all  changes  as  they  may  affect 
that  centre  of  our  activities. 

But  the  day  of  debate  seems  to  be  over 
past,  and  that  of  experiment  is  rapidly  ap 
proaching.  The  posts  and  ties  lie  along 
our  northern  street,  and  we  hear  that  the 
unfruitful  trunks,  which  are  nevertheless 
hereafter  to  bear  the  lightning,  have  been 
planted  close  up  to  our  borders.  The  neigh 
bouring  city  is  to  be  admitted  to  a  glimpse 
into  our  Eden,  and  expectantly,  though  a 
little  coyly,  we  await  the  approach  of  its 
citizens.  Do  not,  we  pray  them,  bring  with 
you  your  city  habits  and  city  ways  to  mar 
the  fair  tablets  of  our  rural  simplicity. 
Come  but  as  men  and  brothers  (and  sisters), 
and  we  will  receive  you  with  open  arms. 
But  remember  that  we  are  unsophisticated 
folk  ;  that  we  do  not  know  the  wiles  of  the 
great  world,  and  that  we  rely  upon  you  to 
cherish  as  your  motto,  noblesse  oblige,  and 
not  abuse  our  ignorance  and  (comparative) 
innocence. 

It  has  been  one  of  my  fancies  that  per 
haps  the  extension  of  the  electric  railway 
lines  throughout  our  rural  districts,  in  which 
they  seem  to  be  forming,  as  it-  were,  vast 
spider  webs,  might  turn  out  to  be  one  of 
our  greatest  blessings,  in  serving  to  scatter 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      67 

the  population  which  year  after  year  has 
tended  more  and  more  to  gather  into  the 
cities  and  great  towns.  If  this  may  indeed 
be  so,  and  thereby  the  congestion  may  be 
relieved,  which  has  forced  the  municipal 
problem  upon  us  as  one  of  the  most  serious 
of  the  dangers  which  we  have  been  com 
pelled  to  face,  we  cannot  be  too  grateful, 
even  though  there  be  drawbacks  which 
somewhat  temper  our  joy.  The  age  of  elec 
tricity,  succeeding  the  age  of  steam,  and 
suddenly  developing  with  an  almost  blind 
ing  flash,  finds  us  in  an  attitude  of  wonder, 
anticipation,  and  awe.  Is  there  any  limit 
to  the  direction  and  extent  of  the  channels 
which  this  delicate  and  powerful  agency 
will  open  ?  We  are  whirled  from  one  de 
velopment  to  another  so  rapidly  that  we 
have  no  opportunity  to  assimilate  them  in 
our  consciousness,  and  a  new  application 
of  this  multiform  power  is  old  and  hack 
neyed  before  it  has  a  chance  to  be  even  a 
nine-days'  wonder. 

And  what  possibilities  of  disaster  are  we 
laying  up  for  ourselves  with  all  this  men 
agerie  of  partly  tamed  denizens  of  the  wild 
which  we  are  trying  to  hold  in  leash  ? 
Chained  in  great  storage  houses,  sent  flash 
ing  through  the  air  or  through  the  ground 


68     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

or  under  the  water  in  every  direction,  on 
what  mad  errand  may  they  sometime  go, 
if  once  the  native  instinct  get  the  bettor  of 
our  imperfect  control !  Perhaps  it  may  grow 
to  be  an  everyday  matter,  and  safe  experi 
ence  may  remove  all  apprehensions ;  but 
the  old-fashioned  among  us,  while  accepting 
gladly  all  the  aid  which  this  new  servant 
is  bringing  us,  cannot  quite  feel  sure  that 
lie  is  not  merely  biding  his  time  for  a  day 
of  reckoning  when  all  scores  shall  be  paid 
off. 

I  have  actually  found  it,  —  the  mayflower, 
I  mean.  This  morning  I  made  another 
expedition,  not  so  long  as  that  of  a  few 
days  ago,  but  more  successful  than  that.  It 
is  true  that  the  clusters  of  blossoms  were 
small,  and  that  there  were  more  buds  than 
blossoms,  and  more  vines  than  buds,  but 
nevertheless  there  were  the  delicate  fragrant 
pink  blossoms  in  ftact,  and  one  blossom  con 
tains  the  promise  and  potency  of  a  world  of 
delight.  The  most  trying  experience  of  the 
morning  was  the  finding  of  a  mile  of  wood 
land  freshly  burned  over,  in  the  very  heart 
of  what  should  have  been  my  best  foraging 
ground.  I  saw  the  fire  across  the  valley 
two  days  ago,  and  I  thought  it  was  merely 
that  the  fanners  were  engaged  in  burning 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.     69 

brush.  But  it  was  probably  a  railroad  fire, 
one  of  the  thousands  upon  thousands  that 
occur  every  year  all  over  the  land,  destroy 
ing  millions  of  dollars'  worth  of  valuable 
property,  and  impoverishing  the  soil  over 
which  they  run.  Is  it  not  about  time  that 
the  railroad  corporations  were  compelled  to 
take  care  that  such  disasters  should  not 
occur  ?  It  is  not  as  if  they  could  not  be 
prevented.  They  can  be,  and  that  without 
serious  difficulty.  It  is  merely  because  we 
are  only  partly  civilized  that  we  permit 
them. 

To-day  the  Easter  holidays  are  ending, 
and  the  girls  are  trooping  back  to  us, 
rejoicing,  as  I  am  sure  they  always  do,  at 
regaining  their  freedom  among  these  hills, 
though  perchance  with  hearts  aching  a  little 
from  the  home  partings.  Then  a  few  more 
busy  weeks  at  the  books  while  all  sorts  of 
distractions  are  calling  upon  them  from 
without,  the  whole  world  waking  up  again 
to  a  new  life,  the  white  and  fleecy  clouds 
floating  in  the  blue  sky,  tree  and  shrub  and 
herb  rushing  exuberantly  into  blossom,  the 
birds  singing,  and  the  bees  humming  ;  while 
the  steady  old  earth,  which  has  already  seen 
so  many,  many  summers,  revolves  upon  its 
axis  —  shall  I  say,  like  a  turkey  on  a  spit  ? 


70     FROM   A   NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

—  no,  that  would  be  quite  too  material; 
like  nothing  but  its  dear  own  self,  bringing 
every  part  in  time  under  the  flood  of  sun 
shine  pouring  joy  into  the  veins,  as  it  were 
liquid  lire,  like  unto  the  ichor  of  the  gods. 

APRIL  5,  1894. 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 


XIII. 

I  WAS  absent  from  home  at  the  time  of 
the  great  storm  on  the  eleventh,  and  on  my 
return  yesterday  found  the  snow  only  scat 
tered  in  patches  instead  of  completely  cov 
ering  the  country  as  it  had  done  two  or 
three  days  before.  Yet  even  this  morning 
there  were  some  drifts  remaining  of  a  foot 
or  two  in  depth.  With  the  temperature 
above  sixty  degrees,  however,  these  cannot 
last  long. 

My  morning  walk  was  rewarded  by  a 
good  handful  of  hepaticas,  together  with 
two  or  three  yellow  stars  of  the  cinque-foil, 
which  I  found  on  a  sunny  slope,  its  first 
appearance.  This  afternoon  I  found  many 
buds  of  the  dog's-tooth  violet  just  ready  to 
open,  though  none  quite  expanded.  At 
sunset  the  air  was  full  of  the  ringing  musi 
cal  notes  of  the  frogs.  I  suppose  one  should 
rather  call  it  a  chirping  than  singing,  but 
by  whatever  name  it  be  called,  it  is  very 
pleasant  to  those  that  are  fond  of  it.  I 
heard  them  first  as  I  neared  the  bed  of  the 


72     FROM    A   NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

old  canal,  which  the  rapid  thawing  of  the 
snow  had  refilled.  They  were  all  talking 
at  once  in  the  merriest  humour  possible  ; 
but  though  I  approached  quietly,  and  then 
stood  still,  they  gradually  became  conscious 
of  my  presence,  and,  fearful  lest  I  should 
betray  their  secrets,  one  by  one  fell  into 
silence,  until  at  length  all  had  become  as 
still  as  mice.  Shortly  after  I  had  passed 
on,  I  heard  them  take  up  the  tale  again, 
narrating,  I  suppose,  each  after  his  own 
fashion,  how  "The  frog  he  would  a-woo- 
ing  go." 

The  smaller  river  is  out  again  over  its 
banks,  but  the  water  has  run  off  with  sur 
prising  rapidity,  and  no  damage  will  be  done. 
The  frost  being  all  out  of  the  ground,  much 
water  has  soaked  in,  to  our  relief,  and  we 
shall  begin  the  season  with  the  springs  well 
filled. 

I  brought  with  me  from  the  city  the  ar 
chitect's  plans,  specifications,  etc.,  for  the 
cottage  that  is  to  be,  and  the  business  now 
begins  to  take  on  a  serious  aspect.  I  have 
often  amused  myself  as  I  have  looked  be 
tween  the  uncovered  ribs  of  a  skeleton 
house,  with  imagining  the  life  that  should 
be  lived  therein,  its  joys  and  sorrows  and 
various  incidents,  and  birth  and  death. 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.     73 

And  now  I  look  through  the  vacant  space 
on  the  terrace  upon  the  hillside,  within  the 
boundaries  which  I  have  roughly  marked 
by  four  fragments  of  trap-rock,  and  all  the 
multitudinous  interests  and  queries  of 
human  life  rise  before  my  imagination. 

Can  we  see  the  ghosts  of  what  is  to  be, 
as  well  as  of  what  has  already  been  ?  So 
far  no  very  terrible  ghosts  have  appeared 
to  me.  It  seems  easy  to  think  of  the  cot 
tage  as  growing  naturally  out  of  the  ground, 
the  moss-covered  masses  from  the  ledge 
and  the  old  stone  fences  taking  their  places 
in  the  walls,  and  offering  a  welcome  to  the 
vines  that  may  come  to  cling  to  them.  And 
the  sunlight  will  stream  easily  through  the 
broad  windows,  and  glow  upon  book  and 
picture,  where  now  the  free  winds  play 
and  leave  no  track.  And  music  of  dulcimer 
and  of  sackbut  and  psaltery  and  harp  in 
their  modern  concentrated  form  will  take 
the  place  of  the  winds  that  whistle  free, 
and  mayhap  the  wind  itself,  moulded  upon 
delicate  vocal  cords,  may  sing  the  finer 
airs  of  the  great  human  composers. 

And  where  now  there  are  only  flashes  of 
light  and  pulses  of  free  air,  there  may  per 
chance  be  flashes  of  thought,  gleams  of 
imagination,  heroic  impulses.  For  who 


74     FKOM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

knows  but  some  of  the  great  ones  may  stray 
thitherward  ?  And  even  if  they  do  not, 
there  may  be  at  least  brave  hopefulness 
and  honest  endeavour  and  a  helpful  spirit. 
And  if  there  should  hap  to  be  at  times  un 
satisfied  longings,  and  even  a  weary  cry, 
that  is  but  the  common  lot,  and  without 
these  the  life  would  hardly  seem  human. 

But  I  am  a  poor  prophet  if  in  that  dwell 
ing  which  is  yet  unborn  the  sunny  days 
shall  not  be  more  numerous  than  the  sad 
days.  Whence  we  come  we  know  not ; 
whither  we  go  we  know  not.  And  it  is 
said  that  "man  is  born  unto  trouble  as  the 
sparks  rly  upward."  Yet  in  this  little 
space  between  the  silences,  is  there  a  great 
flood  of  life  with  which  the  whole  universe 
pulses  ;  over  us  is  the  blue  vault  of  heaven 
with  its  spinning  worlds,  world  beyond 
world,  to  the  outer  reaches  of  the  imagina 
tion  ;  the  soil  and  the  surface  of  the  rock 
and  the  depth  of  the  waters  are  budding 
and  blossoming  and  seeding  from  hour  to 
hour ;  the  light  waxes  and  wanes  in  infi 
nite  gradations  of  loveliness ;  the  waters 
roar  and  the  tempests  wail,  but  anon  deli 
cious  music  fills  the  air  and  soothes  the 
heart ;  it  is  given  to  us  to  feed  our  minds 
with  all  that  is  and  was  and  shall  be,  and 


FROM    A    NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      75 

human  heart  touches  heart,  even  though 
tongue  be  mute,  and  there  may  seem  to  be 
between  one  and  another  a  great  gulf  fixed. 
And  so  though  we  stand  in  the  awful 
presence  of  the  unknown,  and  looking 
backward  see  nought  but  an  impenetrable 
shade,  and  looking  forward,  behold  only 
a  golden  haze  ;  though  there  be  days  of 
pain  and  doubt  and  sorrow ;  though  the 
grasshopper  may  sometimes  seem  a  bur 
den  ;  yet  shall  the  warm  blood  of  the  life 
that  is  fill  the  veins,  and  health  and  peace 
will  come  in  the  frank  acceptance  of  the 
experiences  that  are  sent,  while  the  torrent 
is  tamed,  the  winds  are  tempered,  and  the 
rough  places  are  smoothed  before  those 
that  are  to  come  after. 

APRIL  15,  1894. 


76     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 


XIV. 

THE  wild  flowers  have  been  slow  in  show 
ing  themselves,  having  doubtless  learned 
caution  from  past  experience,  but  the  week 
just  gone,  with  its  many  hours  of  warm 
sunshine,  followed  by  soft  April  showers, 
has  brought  great  changes.  Within  two  or 
three  days  I  have  found,  besides  the  hepat- 
ica,  the  first  comer,  the  cinque-foil,  the 
dandelion,  the  common  duckweed,  shep 
herd's  purse  (is  the  size  of  the  seed  vessels 
of  this  a  true  indication  of  the  small  wants 
or  only  of  the  small  attainments  of  the 
pastoral  part  of  the  community  ?)  the  dog's- 
tooth  violet  in  quantity,  the  bloodroot,  the 
lovely,  modest  little  quaker  lady  or  inno 
cence,  and  the  purple  trillium,  which  has  not 
very  often  happened  in  my  path  in  the 
times  that  are  gone.  Nothing  could  be 
more  dainty  than  the  houstonia—  the  little 
quaker  lady.  And  it  is  very  trustful  and 
confiding  withal,  and  will  bloom  just  as 
courageously  and  perseveringly  in  a  saucer 
at  your  window  if  you  take  up  a  clump  of 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      77 

it,  and  keep  it  properly  moistened.  It  is 
a  thirsty  little  creature,  but  then  it  only 
drinks  the  most  harmless  of  beverages. 
One  of  iny  neighbours  found  a  root  of  it 
as  late  as  Thanksgiving  Day  last  year,  and 
put  it  into  a  tiny  vase,  which  was  lent  to 
me  for  a  few  days  more  than  a  month 
ago,  crowned  with  over  fifty  delicate  blos 
soms,  just  touched  with  a  tint  of  the  vernal 
sky. 

A  marvellous  change  has  taken  place  in 
the  appearance  of  the  fields  and  of  the 
trees  and  shrubs  since  the  showers  began. 
On  the  sward  Nature  has  been  spreading 
her  green  tints  with  a  lavish  hand,  —  the 
willows  have  hung  out  their  golden  plumes, 
and  are  now  putting  on  a  green  mantle,  and 
everywhere  the  buds  have  been  swelling 
and  unfolding,  so  that  the  woods  and  shrub 
beries  have  become  more  dense  and  richer  in 
colour.  A  writer  in  the  "  London  Spectator" 
has  told  very  daintily  the  story  of  the  com 
ing  of  the  buds  and  blossoms  of  trees  as 
they  are  seen  in  old  England,  and  says  that 
to  know  them  aright  there,  one  must  begin 
to  observe  them  from  the  first  day  of  the 
new  year.  And  I  remember  that  White  of 
Selborne  finds  some  of  the  spring  flowers 
even  in  December.  In  our  climate  they  are 


78     FROM   A   NEW    ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

not  so  enterprising,  and  I  am  inclined  to 
think  that  we  enjoy  them  the  more  at  their 
coming,  because  we  have  had  such  a  long 
period  when  life  seemed  wholly  to  have 
passed  from  the  fields  and  woods. 

I  am  tempted  to  quote  here  some  verses 
of  my  own,  published  a  good  many  years 
ago  in  another  place  ;  they  were  written  for 
children  —  but  are  we  not  all  children  in 
the  spring  ? 

Glorious  sunshine  flooding  the  earth 

Richly  with  golden  showers, 
Filling  our  hearts  with  gladness  and  mirth, 

Bringing  the  birds  and  flowers; 
Joy  giving  sunshine,  happy  are  we 
In  the  new  life  that  eomes  from  thee ! 

Softly  the  raindrops,  falling  in  showers, 

—  Each  like  a  tiny  ball ! 
Bring  down  unstinted  life;  to  the  (lowers, 

Manna  to  feed  them  all! 
But  see!  the  sunshine  gleaming  through, 
Showeth  in  heaven  a  gate  of  blue! 

Over  the  fields  the  grasses  are  creeping, 

Spreading  a  velvet  screen! 
Into  the  light  the  blossoms  are  peeping, 

Sparkling  amid  the  green  ! 
Joy-giving  sunshine,  happy  are  we 
In  the  new  life  that  comes  from  thee ! 


FROM    A   NEW    ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     79 

Hark !  'tis  the  birds  that  blithely  are  singing 

Thanks  for  the  sunny  hours ! 
Hark !  'tis  the  busy  bees  that  are  clinging 

Round  the  just  op'ning  flowers! 
Busy  and  cheerful  workers  are  ye! 
What  is  your  secret,  bird  and  bee? 

My  neighbours  are  raking  the  dry  leaves 
from  their  lawns,  and  putting  their  gar 
dens  in  order ;  the  road-makers  are  abroad, 
spreading  soft  mould  over  the  driveways, 
to  provide  deep  mudholcs  to  burrow  in 
when  the  rain  comes  ;  the  farmers  are  busy 
in  the  fields  preparing  for  the  early  crops. 
And  even  upon  that  portion  of  my  "moun 
tain  meadow  "  which  I  design  for  a  garden 
and  orchard,  the  plough  has  been  turning  the 
rich  soil  up  to  the  sun  to  be  aired  and  sweet 
ened,  and  what  here  and  there  appear  to  be 
only  arbitrary  pitfalls  for  the  unwary  are 
the  destined  homes  of  apple  and  peach  and 
pear  and  cherry  and  plum  and  quince  and 
apricot ;  and  elsewhere,  of  the  elm  tree 
and  the  white  birch. 

I  wonder  if  the  latter,  which  so  gener 
ously  clothes  the  neglected  and  forgotten 
fields,  and  which  mounts  the  rough  edge 
of  the  deserted  gravel  pit  and  plants  its 
little  cohorts  upon  the  scarred  hillside,  will 
form  as  graceful  a  cluster  at  my  bidding,  to 


8o      FROM    A    NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

shut  off  too  long  and  straight  a  line  of  wall, 
and  mark  the  border  of  the  "  home-place." 

On  the  two  mornings  immediately  pre 
ceding  the  rain  it  was  interesting  to  observe 
the  casts  of  the  earthworms  thickly  strewn 
everywhere  alongside  the  paths,  and  in  the 
pathways  themselves,  excepting  where  they 
had  become  most  solid.  Not  a  worm  itself 
did  I  see,  but  there  was  scarcely  a  space  of 
five  inches  anywhere  which  did  not  show 
its  little  curlicue  of  fresh  soil  from  beneath. 
Not  more  marvellous  are  the  great  oaks  that 
grow  from  the  little  acorns  than  are  the 
stupendous  changes  that  are  effected  upon 
the  surface  of  the  earth  by  these  soft,  limp, 
almost  structureless  bodies,  as  Darwin  has 
shown.  If  any  one  has  a  lingering  doubt 
as  to  the  value  of  individual  effort  on  the 
part  of  the  ordinary  mortal,  albeit  uncon 
scious  effort,  and  without  conscious  pur 
pose,  let  him  read  the  "  Earthworms  and 
Vegetable  Mould,"  and  be  encouraged  and 
consoled. 

Undoubtedly  it  is  the  exceptional  mor 
tals,  the  thinkers,  the  giant  workers,  the 
strong,  the  great,  that  mark  epochs  and 
lead  the  race  forward.  We  see  them  above 
others  as  we  look  back  over  the  past,  like 
vigorous  trees  in  the  forest,  like  mountain 


FROM    A    NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      8l 

peaks   o'ertopping   lesser  hills.      Mankind 
will  not  forget  them.     Theirs  are 

—  the  few,  the  immortal  names, 
That  were  not  born  to  die. 

But,  as  Walt  Whitman  says,  "I  sing" 
the  great  unknown,  the  unnumbered  com 
monplace,  who  go  about  their  daily  tasks 
with  only  the  ordinary  hopes  and  fears, 
joys  and  aspirations,  wants  and  woes,  vir 
tues  and  faults,  which  are  the  common  lot 
of  the  human  race.  Perhaps  even  some  of 
these  take  themselves  quite  seriously,  and 
are  fully  aware  that  the  machine  would  go 
to  pieces  if  their  peg  should  not  be  in  its 
place.  But  there  are  numberless  others 
who  believe  themselves  of  no  account,  and 
untold  multitudes  who  think  that  if  only 
things  were  somewhat  different,  then  would 
they  be  able  to  give  this  great  world  the 
boost  that  it  needs  to  send  it  spinning  free 
adown  the  ages,  or  at  least  might  be  able  to 
give  that  little  aid  of  which  they  now  feel 
incapable. 

Courage,  good  friend  !  Perhaps  "  this  is 
the  very  place  God  meant  for  thee,"  and  out 
of  it  thou  wouldst  be  lost,  and  it  also.  Till 
thine  own  acre.  A  good  people  is  only 
made  out  of  good  individuals,  and  the  strong 


82     FROM    A    NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

and  courageous  leader  can  only  make  a 
strong  and  courageous  nation  by  inspiring 
others  with  his  strength  and  courage.  A 
stream  will  not  rise  higher  than  its  source, 
but  the  fuller  the  spring,  the  surer  will  it 
"  to  higher  levels  rise." 

APKIL  22,  1894. 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.     83 


When  Adam  dolvo,  and  Eve  span, 
Who  was  then  the  gentleman  ? 

Din  you  ever  hear  an  easier  conundrum 
in  your  life  ?  The  journeyman  gardener 
who  could  not  guess  this  at  the  first  attempt, 
is  not  worth  his  salt. 

I  have  been  at  it  for  two  days.  After 
many  hours'  labour,  I  am  forced  this  after 
noon  to  confess  that  it  is  easier  in  theory 
than  in  practice.  How  can  there  be  so 
many  stones  in  so  small  a  piece  of  ground  ? 
Why  will  the  teeth  of  the  rake  catch  in 
the  edge  of  the  sod  and  turn  it  up,  and 
compel  me  to  pull  and  push  and  beat  it  in 
order  to  work  out  the  rich  mould,  before 
the  grass  can  be  thrown  off  upon  the  border 
or  left  to  wither  upon  the  surface  ?  And 
why,  O  why,  is  it  such  a  labour  to  get  the 
kink  out  of  the  back,  and  put  some  flexi 
bility  into  the  spine  once  more  ? 

Ah  !  but  when  I  raise  my  eyes  !  There, 
before  me  are  the  everlasting  hills,  "from 


»4     FROM    A   NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

whence  cometh  my  help,"  in  all  their  glory 
and  mystery.  And  marshalled  in  mighty 
hosts,  the  great  clouds,  majestic  in  form 
and  magnificent  in  colour,  —  sometimes  vast 
piles  of  snow,  and  then  deep-toned,  sombre 
masses,  march  across  the  heavens,  and  anon 
the  hills  are  shrouded  as  with  a  veil,  a  sud 
den  gust  of  wind  passes  down  the  valley, 
and  the  rain  drops,  in  serried  files,  are  driven 
across  the  fields.  And  then  the  sun  breaks 
through  in  the  west  and  dazzles  my  eyes, 
and  as  my  neighbour  calls  from  the  adjoining 
orchard,  I  turn  eastward,  and  behold  a  per 
fect  bow,  which,  resting  at  both  ends  upon 
the  earth  between  me  and  my  own  woodland, 
spans  the  site  of  the  future  home.  Shall  I, 
just  for  this  once,  be  a  trifle  superstitious, 
and  accept  the  token  as  a  welcome  harbin 
ger  of  the  better  days  that  are  to  be  ? 

APRIL  24,  1894. 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.     85 


XVI. 

$a§  Graig--2Bcibltcf)e 
3icf)t  un§  fyinan. 

AMATI,  Stradivarius,  Guarnerius,  —  O 
sons  of  Cremona,  what  subtile  spirit 
taught  you  how  to  shape  and  tune  that 
divine  instrument  which  can  express  as 
no  other  all  the  aspirations  and  passions 
of  the  human  heart  ?  How  its  tones  twist 
and  twine  around  our  nerves,  until  we  vi 
brate  in  unison  with  its  quivering  strings, 
and  are  played  upon  as  though  we  our 
selves  were  the  instrument !  And  she  that 
handles  the  bow,  how  fine  her  dower,  to  be 
able  to  evoke  at  will  that  mystic  charm, 
and  rule  our  ear  and  heart  and  soul,  with 
a  greater  spell  than  that  of  the  Pied  Piper 
of  Hamelin-town,  leading  us  all  a-dancing 
through  the  charmed  aisles  of  wonderland. 
We  that  have  not  the  gift  can  do  no  less 
than  render  just  homage  where  it  is  due, 
not  unmingled,  perhaps,  with  a  righteous 
envy  of  the  power  to  confer  upon  others 
so  great  a  draught  of  pleasure.  So  Viola 


86     FROM    A   NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

played  this  afternoon,  and  we  all  rejoiced. 
And  Brunella,  from  the  cold  ivory  keys, 
drew  a  fitting  harmony  upon  which  the 
lingering  and  sparkling  tones  of  the  violin 
floated  and  danced,  as  upon  the  crest  of  the 
waves.  And  then  from  the  same  keys  rip 
pled  the  tripping  melody,  and  deep  and 
solemn  chords  responded  to  an  assured  and 
sympathetic  touch. 

What  can  one  do  or  say  in  return  for  such 
a  pleasure  ?  The  scribe  ventured  only  to 
remark  that  what  was  so  charming  to  the 
hearer  must  be  even  a  greater  delight  to  the 
performer.  Brunella  suggested  that  the  per 
former  suffered  sometimes  from  a  conscious 
ness  of  unsympathetic  hearers.  But  what 
hearers  could  fail  to  be  sympathetic  under 
such  a  spell  ?  Ah  !  doubtless  there  are  dull 
ears,  and  nerves  so  heavy  or  so  weary,,  that 
they  fail  to  respond  to  the  message  borne 
by  the  pulsing  air.  And  perhaps  there  may 
be  hearts  that  are  not  wholly  awake  to  the 
finer  melodies  and  harmonies  of  the  uni 
verse,  to  which  these  tones  are  but  as  sound 
and  fury,  signifying  nothing. 

I  sometimes  wonder  why  it  is  that  so 
many  people  miss  the  finer  shades  of  mean 
ing  in  this  harmony  that  we  call  life,  and  in 


FROM    A    NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      87 

very  good  faith  do  their  little  best  to  con 
vert  it  into  unlovely  discord. 

The  scribe  is,  as  it  were,  admitted  here 
into  the  very  realm  of  the  Princess  Ida,  with 
out  even  the  moral  support  that  he  might 
have,  were  Cyril  and  Fjorian  with  him.  The 
one  black  sheep  amid  a  flock  of  ewe  lambs 
this  afternoon,  he  could  but  shelter  himself 
in  a  quiet  corner,  and  bless  his  stars  that  the 
lambs  were  so  gentle,  and  that  they  were 
not  wolves  instead.  The  man  who  does  not 
feel  abashed  in  the  presence  of  a  pure  and 
noble  woman,  .must  himself  be  very  free 
from  tarnish  by  the  world,  or  he  must  be 
very  callous.  If  she  be  — 

A  creature  not  too  bright  or  good 
For  liumau  nature's  daily  food ; 
For  transient  sorrows,  simple  wiles, 
Fraise,  blame,  love,  kisses,  tears  aiid  smiles. 

****** 

The  reason  firm,  the  temperate  will, 
Endurance,  foresight,  strength,  and  skill ; 
A  perfect  woman,  nobly  planned, 
To  warn,  to  comfort,  and  command: 
And  yet  a  spirit  still,  and  bright 
With  something  of  angelic  light,  — 

she  is  surely  the  crown  of  life  so  far  as  it 
has  yet  appeared  upon  the  work-and-play 
ground  of  our  mother  earth. 


88     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.    • 

One  must,  however,  encourage  one's  self 
with  the  thought  that  she  cannot  dispense 
with  him  in  the  long  run,  —  that  there 

must  be  — 

Everywhere 

Two  heads  in  council,  two  beside  the  hearth, 
Two  in  the  tangled  business  of  the  world, 
Two  in  the  liberal  offices  of  life, 
Two  plummets  dropped  for  one  to  sound  the 

abyss 

Of  science,  and  the  secrets  of  the  mind: 
Musician,  painter,  sculptor,  critic,  more: 
And    everywhere  the  broad    and   bounteous 

earth 
Should  bear  a  double  growth  of  those  rare 

souls, 
Poets,  whose  thoughts  enrich  the  blood  of  the 

world. 

Man  needs  collision  of  intellect  and  inter 
change  of  thought  with  his  fellow-man,  and 
woman  needs  to  range  herself  alongside  her 
sister.  But  more  than  all  else,  each  needs 
the  inspiration  that  comes  from  the  other. 
Their  attitude  of  mind,  thought,  and  feeling 
is  different :  — 

For  woman  is  not  undeveloped  man, 
But  diverse :  could  we  make  her  as  the  man, 
Sweet  Ix>ve  were  slain :    his  dearest  bond  is 
this, 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.     89 

Not  like  to  like,  but  like  in  difference : 
Yet  in  the  long  years  liker  must  they  grow ; 
The  man  be  more  of  woman,  she  of  man ; 
He  gain  in  sweetness  and  in  moral  height, 
Nor  lose  the  wrestling  thews  that  throw  the 

world ; 
She   mental  breadth,  nor    fail  in  childward 

care, 

Nor  lose  the  child-like  in  the  larger  mind ; 
Till  at  the  last  she  set  herself  to  man, 
Like  perfect  music  unto  noble  words ; 
And  so  these  twain,  upon  the  skirts  of  Time, 
Sit  side  by  side,  full  summ'd  in  all  their  pow 
ers, 

Dispensing  harvest,  sowing  the  To-be, 
Self-reverent  each  and  reverencing  each, 
Distinct  in  individualities, 
But  like  each  other  ev'n  as  those  who  love. 

I  was  struck  by  Phillis's  suggestion  in  at 
tempting  to  account  for  a  certain  lack  of 
interest  in  outward  nature  and  natural 
science  which  appeared  to  be  visible  in  her 
sisters,  that  their  thought  and  feeling  were 
by  constitution  more  centred  upon  the  in 
dividual  human  being,  and  personal  rela 
tions.  Whether  this  be  so,  I  cannot  say, 
but  certainly  there  seems  to  be  with  them 
a  definite  tendency  toward  measuring  by 
the  concrete,  and  ignoring  abstract  rela 
tions  and  wide  affinities  and  deductions, 


go     FROM    A    NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

as  compared  with  their  brothers.  And 
withal,  there  appears  to  be  a  certain  intui 
tive  unreasoning  clearness  of  perception  in 
some  directions,  where  all  man's  careful 
study  occasionally  leads  him  astray,  or 
befogs  his  vision. 

A  truce  to  the  absurd  discussion  as  to 
which  is  the  greater  power.  In  a  certain 
volume  which  used  to  be  widely  read,  it  is 
written,  "  So  God  created  man  in  his  own 
image,  in  the  image  of  God  created  he 
him  ;  male  and  female  created  he  them." 
And  I  think  that  I  speak  as  by  authority 
for  one-half  of  the  human  race,  in  saying 
that  out  of  the  smoke  of  the  battle,  and 
out  of  the  dust  and  heat  of  the  conflict  of 
life,  we  of  the  rougher,  coarser  sort  look  up 
for  needed  refreshment  to  those  who  may 
be  a  little  removed  from  the  worst  of  this 
soiling  contact  ;  ask  for  an  occasional  breath 
of  a  higher,  purer  air,  for  a  touch  that  will 
cool  and  freshen  us,  a  guiding  hand  to  lead 
us  to  the  serener  heights,  whence  we  can 
gaze  into  the  infinite  distances.  And  we 
hope  that  the  time  may  never  come  when 
we  cannot  repeat,  as  now  we  fervently 
say :  — 

The  ever-womanly  leadeth  us. 

APKIL  23,  1894. 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE, 


XVII. 

A  NOT  ungentle  touch  upon  the  shoulder 
brought  me  to  myself,  and  to  a  realization 
of  the  fact  that  there  was  an  outside  world, 
and  I  found  the  conductor  standing  quietly 
by  my  side  in  that  expectant  attitude  which 
demands  recognition. 

I  was  speeding  on  my  way  homeward, 
with  a  heavy  burden  lifted  from  my  mind, 
but  with  a  leaden  weight  resting  upon  my 
weary  eyelids,  after  long  night  watches. 
But  how  great  a  contrast  in  these  weights  ! 
A  glance  from  the  car-window  fully  awak 
ened  me.  The  spotless  heaven  smiled  back 
upon  the  rollicking  fruit  trees,  bursting 
everywhere  into  blossom,  as  into  tumultuous 
laughter  ;  the  rich  green  of  the  pastures, 
and  the  softer  shades  of  the  various  trees 
of  the  wood  vied  with  each  other  in  their 
effort  to  refresh  the  eye ;  there  were  the 
meadows, — 

—  with  daisies  pied,  and  violets  blue, 

excepting  that  it  was  still  too  early  for  the 
daisies,    at  least  for    the  common   white- 


92     FROM   A    NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

weed  which  we  dignify  by  that  name,  and 
I  had  to  take  the  buttercups  instead  ;  but 
there  were  violets  a-plenty,  and  on  the 
slopes,  the  tender  blue  of  that  of  the  bird's- 
foot,  the  loveliest  one  of  all ;  there  were  the 
moss  pinks,  the  crowsfoot  geranium,  the 
wild  azalea,  and  what-not.  How  bright  it 
all  was,  and  how  happy  they  looked  ! 
They  toiled  not,  neither  did  they  spin,  and 
yet  "  Solomon,  in  all  his  glory,  was  not  ar 
rayed, —  was  not  arrayed,  like  one  of  these, 
—  like  one  of  these."  It  seemed  as  if 
work  were  needless,  and  that  we,  too, 
should  vegetate  only,  in  a  world  so  full  of 
life. 

But  no  such  immunity  from  the  com 
mon  lot  is  needful.  What  do  I  say  ?  —  no 
such  immunity  is  desirable  or  grateful,  ex 
cept  for  the  moment.  It  is  the  weight 
upon  the  heart  that  crushes.  The  knowl 
edge  of  personal  wrong-doing  is  the  worst, 
or  perhaps  the  best,  in  that  it  brings  with 
it  its  own  antidote,  in  the  healthful  im 
pulse,  but  next  to  this,  and  in  a  certain 
sense  the  worst  of  all,  is  the  fact  of  being 
cruelly  misconceived  and  misjudged.  Ah  ! 
this  is  the  burden  which  we  feel  cannot  be 
borne,  the  wrong  for  which  there  appears 
no  remedy,  the  damned  spot  which  seems 


FROM   A   NEW    ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     93 

as  though  it  will  not  out.  The  heavens 
grow  black,  and  the  waters  of  the  river  of 
life  run  muddy  and  sullen.  How  horrible 
it  all  is,  —  the  taint  that  spreads  as  a  drop 
of  oil  upon  the  face  of  the  waters,  until 
every  point  we  touch  is  mastered  by  it,  but 
in  how  different  a  fashion  ! 

When,  however,  the  hideous  charin  is 
broken,  ah  !  then  comes  the  light !  As  now 
the  sunlight  gleaming  through  the  tender 
gray  green  leaves,  dancing  upon  the  blades 
of  grass,  flashing  from  the  ripples  upon  the 
water,  sparkling  in  the  blue  of  the  sky  ; 
while  the  brooks  murmur  and  the  birds 
carol  as  though  they  were  but  an  embodied 
joy- 

MAY  10,  1894. 


94     FROM   A   NEW    ENGL.l  N'D   HILLSIDE. 


XVIII. 


I  said  that  it  was  a  great  bore, 
Phollis  remarked  in  that  exasperating  way 
that  some  young  women  have  of  dulling 
the  fine  points  made  by  their  elders,  fur 
whose  gray  beards  and  bald  pates  they 
should  have  more  respect,  that  I  "must 
have  got  that  off  before,  it  came  so  easy." 
I  was  speaking  of  the  big  hole  which  I 
own  upon  the  hillside.  I  never  owned  so 
long  a  hole  before  in  all  my  life,  and  now  I 
cannot  take  it  away  with  me  and  make  it 
of  any  service. 

The  fact  is  that  workmen  have  set  up  a 
steam  engine  with  other  appropriate  para 
phernalia  upon  my  building  site,  and  for  a 
week  past  they  have  been  drilling  away 
with  a  very  blunt  chisel  in  search  for  water. 
They  tell  me  they  have  already  gone  down 
about  seventy-two  feet,  and  have  as  yet 
secured  a  very  inadequate  supply  of  that 
useful  commodity.  They  tell  me  also  that 
they  are  on  hard  pan,  and  this  makes  me 
feel  at  home,  so  many  of  us  have  been  situ- 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      95 

ated  in  the  same  way  for  the  past  year. 
And  it  also  has  a  familiar  sound  when  they 
add  that  they  do  not  know  how  long  this 
condition  of  affairs  may  continue. 

I  looked  into  the  hole,  which  they  have 
lined  with  an  iron  pipe  about  six  inches  in 
diameter,  and  a  very'  black  hole  it  is,  and 
far  on  the  road  toward  Calcutta.  We  all 
supposed  that  we  should  strike  rock  within 
a  few  feet  from  the  surface,  and  find  a  suit 
able  supply  of  water  shortly  after.  Hut 
fortune  did  not  favour  us,  and  now  I  am 
tied,  as  it  were,  to  the  interior  of  the  earth 
by  a  mysterious  channel.  It  is  a  precious 
possession.  Nobody  else  in  the  neighbour 
hood  owns  such  a  hole,  and  though  I  some 
times  hear  of  depredations  in  the  village  or 
on  the  surrounding  farms,  fruit  taken  or  po 
tatoes  dug,  or,  as,  alas  !  in  a  recent  case, 
even  a  horse  stolen,  I  am  not  afraid  of  any 
one  pulling  this  up  and  carrying  it  off.  It 
is  one  thing  which  I  shall  be  able  to  keep, 
and  I  shall  make  the  most  of  it. 

And  now  I  am  going  to  let  out  a  little 
secret,  which  will  betray  my  own  ignorance. 
When  I  had  written  that  word  "parapher 
nalia"  a  little  way  back,  it  being  a  rather 
formidable  word,  I  did  as  I  often  do  in  such 
cases,  —  I  referred  to  a  small  dictionary  to 


96     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

make  sure  that  my  spelling  was  correct. 
I  used  the  small  dictionary  to  save  time, 
notwithstanding  that  Ions  experience  should 
have  taught  me  that  I  always  have  to  refer 
to  the  larger  work  before  I  get  through. 

Well,  I  referred  to  a  certain  "  rocket 
Dictionary  of  the  English  Language  "  which 
has  in  times  past  been  the  cause  of  much 
of  this  sort  of  trouble,  and  read,  to  my  dis 
may,  this  definition  :  "  Paraphernalia,  goods 
of  a  wife  beyond  her  dower."  A  pretty 
mess  I  had  made  of  it.  Let  us  see  how  the 
phrase  runs  with  the  substitution:  "A 
steam  engine  with  other  appropriate  goods 
of  a  wife  beyond  her  dower."  Woe  is  me  ! 
Would  any  one  have  supposed  in  advance 
that  a  steam  engine  should  naturally  be 
classed  among  the  appropriate  goods  of  a 
wife  beyond  her  dower  ?  This  opens  a  large 
iield  for  speculation,  and  points  to  the  great 
extension  and  importance  of  the  manufac 
turing  era,  but  also  to  an  extension  of  the 
scope  of  woman's  activities.  A  steam  engine 
would  doubtless,  in  certain  emergencies,  be 
a  good  thing  to  have  in  the  family,  but  it 
lias  its  disadvantages.  Phollis  told  me  this 
afternoon  that  my  bluff  rock  had  been  her 
favourite  place  of  resort  for  study  and  quiet 
reading,  but  that  during  the  past  week  she 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.     97 

had  been  driven  from  it  by  the  dull  and 
monotonous  thud,  thud  of  the  engine.  And 
I  quite  shared  in  her  feeling.  We  do  not 
desire  to  shirk  labour  here,  but  it  is  hand 
labour  and  head  labour  and  heart  labour 
that  is  to  our  liking,  and  naught  that  re 
minds  us  strongly  of  the  great  hives  of  in 
dustry  which  we  have  left  behind  us. 

And  what  of  those  hives?  I  do  not  know 
whether  it  is  particularly  profitable  to  spec 
ulate  about  the  effect  of  inevitable  and  un 
avoidable  conditions,  or  relations  which 
must  be  lived  through.  I  am  inclined  to 
think,  though,  that  there  are  certain  advan 
tages  to  be  derived  from  sometimes  trying 
to  get  them  into  proper  perspective,  and 
from  picturing  to  ourselves  their  causes  and 
consequences,  their  necessity  and  value  or 
uselessness,  their  transitoriness  or  perma 
nence. 

When  Hero  of  Alexandria  constructed 
his  seolipile  or  James  Watt  his  workable 
steam  engine,  how  little  either  of  them 
thought  that  he  was  dealing  with  an  agency 
which  should  not  only  transform  the  world, 
but  should  transform  the  race  also  !  Think, 
if  you  can,  of  what  the  world  would  be  to 
day  had  the  steam  engine  never  been  in 
vented.  No  communication  between  place 

H 


Qo     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

and  place  excepting  by  row-boat  or  sailing 
vessel  on  the  water,  or  by  animal-power 
or  on  foot  on  the  land  ;  no  stupendous  dis 
emboweling  of  the  earth  for  the  fuel  stored 
therein  by  the  sun  in  ages  past,  or  for 
the  metals,  lead  and  iron  and  zinc,  copper 
and  silver  and  gold  ;  no  spanning  of  mighty 
rivers  by  great  bridges  ;  no  vast  workshops, 
swarming  with  hundreds  and  thousands  of 
men  and  women,  gathered  at  the  call  of  im 
mense  machines,  whose  servants  they  be 
come,  to  make  millions  of  copies  of  a  single 
pattern,  and  often  of  such  a  pattern  as  was 
never  seen  on  any  mount  of  vision  ;  and 
to  work,  mind  upon  mind,  in  a  narrow 
circle,  on  the  one  side  increasing  and  de 
veloping  mental  action,  and  on  the  other 
limiting,  deforming,  twisting  it,  and  cramp 
ing  the  individual  into  the  pattern  of  the 
class. 

I  have  particularly  in  mind  just  now  the 
two  points  to  which  I  have  last  alluded : 
The  flooding  of  the  world  with  countless 
copies  of  articles  exactly  similar,  for  whose 
form  and  character  their  putative  makers 
have  practically  no  thought  or  responsibil 
ity  ;  and  the  effect  upon  these  makers  of 
their  herding  together.  In  both  respects 
the  bad  and  the  good  are  inextricably  mill- 


FROM   A    NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.     99 

gled.  You  can  indicate  them,  but  you  can 
not  disentangle  them.  In  the  first  instance, 
possessions  have  become  democratized.  The 
convenience  or  the  ornament,  which  once 
was  only  for  the  select  few,  or  even  not  for 
these,  b'lt  non-existent,  is  strewn  broadcast 
among  the  multitude,  —  sold  for  a  song. 
But  alas  !  it  has  lost  its  soul.  No  loving, 
thoughtful  care  goes  into  it ;  it  has  no  per 
sonality  ;  it  has  descended,  as  from  a  man 
to  a  manikin. 

And  the  workers,  what  of  them  ?  From 
the  free  air,  under  the  broad  light  of  heaven, 
they  have  been  drawn  into  these  immense 
caravansaries,  where  their  ears  buzz  with 
the  whirr,  their  nerves  tremble  with  the  jar, 
their  nostrils  are  rilled  with  the  mixed  efflu 
via  of  many  things  which  are  not  nice  ;  to 
perform  a  certain  act  over  and  over  and 
over  and  over  again,  plodding  through  a 
tread-mill  life  ;  meeting  hour  after  hour, 
anil  day  after  day,  and  week  after  week, 
and  month  after  month,  with  others  strug 
gling  under  like  limitations  ;  forced  to  hear 
and  parry  or  accept  ideas,  and  therefore 
forced  to  think,  but  shut  in  one  eternal 
round,  with  the  little  of  life  they  see  visi 
ble  as  through  a  distorting  lens ;  how  is  it 
possible  that  the  world  should  be  to  them 


100     FROM   A   NEW    ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

as  it  is  to  those  who  view  it  as  free  individ 
uals  out  in  God's  sunshine  ?  Is  it  strange 
that  all  sorts  of  exploded  theories,  chimeri 
cal  schemes,  and  absurd  conceptions  of 
"natural  rights"  and  millennial  possibilities 
should  find  in  such  congregations  a  congenial 
soil,  and  that  we  are  from  time  to  time  con 
fronted  with  a  problem  which  it  seems  im 
possible  to  solve  :  how  to  clarify  this  vision, 
to  couch  the  suffering  eyes  before  it  is  too 
late,  and  the  incurable  disaster  falls  upon 
us  ?  The  wonder  under  these  conditions  is, 
I  think,  that  sanity  continues  to  be  the  rule 
and  has  not  become  the  exception,  and  that 
somehow  there  is  in  the  individual  a  suffi 
cient  repulsive  power  to  enable  him  or  her 
for  the  most  part  to  resist  what  would  seem 
to  be  the  inevitable  consequences  of  the 
position. 

But  these  reflections  cause  one  to  pray 
for  some  loop-hole  through  which  humanity 
may  creep  into  a  freer  air,  where  the  soul 
can  be  regained.  And  I  sometimes  won 
der  whether  the  relief  which  we  seek  may 
not  yet  be  found  in  the  age  of  electricity, 
which  is  following  upon  the  heels  of  the  age 
of  steam.  May  it  not  be  that  the  time  is 
coming,  and  even  not  far  in  the  distant 
future,  when  through  storage  battery  or  in 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      IOI 

some  other  way  the  skilled  workman  may 
obtain  the  added  power  which  he  now  needs, 
and  have  it  brought  to  his  own  dwelling, 
and  thus  be  enabled  to  retire  "  far  from  the 
madding  crowd,"  and  by  personal  thought 
and  individual  touch  impress  upon  the 
thing  which  he  creates  that  character  and 
merit  which  will  conquer  for  it  a  place  in 
the  affection  and  in  the  markets  of  the 
world  ?  Let  us  hope  so. 

But  where  was  I  ?  As  I  live,  looking  out 
the  meaning  of  the  word  paraphernalia  in 
the  dictionary.  Come,  come  —  no  more  tri 
fling  with  this  little  affair ;  let  us  see  what 
the  "  Century  "  has  to  tell  us.  Ah  !  here  it 
is  ;  number  three  will  save  me,  but  only  as 
by  fire  ;  "miscellaneous  possessions,"  and 
1  will  positively  refuse  to  pay  any  attention 
whatever  to  the  rest  of  the  sentence,  "as 
the  numerous  conveniences  of  a  traveller, 
small  decorative  objects,  and  the  like." 

MAY  11,  1891. 


102     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 


"  Look  here,  upon  this  picture." 

Is  it  possible  that  I  have  permitted  seven 
months  to  pass  without  a  second  visit  to 
Kattlesnake  Mountain  ?  Even  so  ;  and 
again  a  stiff  breeze  is  blowing,  but  laden 
now  with  the  odours  of  spring,  and  full  of 
the  promise  of  the  summer  days.  As  we 
climb  the  mountain  side,  Phollis  and  I,  we 
are  greeted  now  and  again  by  the  fragrance 
of  apple  blossoms,  by  the  spicy  breath  of 
the  cedars,  exhaling  their  rich  aroma  at  the 
solicitation  of  the  warm  sun,  by  the  mint 
which  we  crush  beneath  our  feet,  by  the 
thousand  mingled  perfumes  of  tree  and 
shrub  and  herb  which  surround  us,  and  of 
the  earth  from  which  they  spring,  with  its 
carpet  of  dried  leaves. 

The  notes  of  many  birds  come  to  us 
through  the  branches,  and  we  see  them 
fluttering  from  tree  to  tree,  occasionally 
showing  a  bright  wing  sparkling  in  a  slant 
sunbeam.  Song-sparrow,  Maryland  yellow 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      103 

throat,  wood  robin,  redstart,  oriole,  gros 
beak,  thrush  —  how  I  wish  I  knew  them 
all,  and  the  meaning  of  their  joyous  calls  ! 
It  scarcely  seems  as  if  it  would  require  the 
intervention  of  the  cruel  uncle  to  induce  us 
to  lie  upon  this  warm  sun-flecked  slope,  and 
be  overspread  with  a  leafy  counterpane. 
But  I  hardly  think  that  our  red-breasted 
thrush,  masquerading  as  robin  redbreast,  as 
the  white  weed  in  its  turn  does  as  the 

Wee,  modest,  crimsou  tipped  flow'r, 
is  really  fully  aware  how 

Robin  redbreast  piously 
Did  cover  them  with  leaves, 

and,  just  possibly,  even  now  we  might  run 
the  risk  of  a  late  frost.  But  how  good  it  is 
here  ! 

Under  the  greenwood  tree 

Who  loves  to  lie  witli  me, 

And  turn  his  merry  note 

Unto  the  sweet  bird's  throat  — 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither  ! 

Here  shall  he  see 

No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

Who  doth  ambition  shun 
And  loves  to  live  i'  the  sun, 


IO4     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

Seeking  tho  food  he  eats 

And  pleased  with  what  he  gets  — 
Come  hither,  come  hither,  come  hither  ! 

Here  shall  he  see 

No  enemy 
But  winter  and  rough  weather. 

We  commit  ourselves  to  the  uncertainties 
of  an  unknown  path  which  opportunely 
presents  itself,  and  plunge  into  the  intri 
cacies  of  the  wood.  The  trees  and  shrubs 
are  all  in  leaf,  but  the  leaves  —  like  Little 
Buttercup  —  are  young  and  tender,  inviting 
to  reckless  experiment  with  teeth  and  pal 
ate,  — 

Seeking  the  food  he  eats 
And  pleased  with  what  he  gets, — 

that  we  may  be  prepared,  if  peradventure 
we  be  lost  in  the  wood,  and  forced  to  seek 
sustenance  from  sources  hitherto  untried. 
I  do  not  advise  too  free  an  indulgence  in 
'  this  sort  of  investigation,  however,  by  those 
who  have  not  already  some  knowledge  of 
the  organic  world  in  its  unsophisticated  in 
digenous  forms.  But  there  may  be  great 
possibilities  here.  Did  not  Lorelei  teach  us 
on  Cape  Cod  last  summer  that  the  limpets 
upon  the  shore  were  dainties  to  be  prized, 
and  did  I  not  seriously  meditate  housing 


FROM    A    NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      105 

myself  in  a  cabin  within  sight  of  the  surf, 
and,  luxuriating  upon  this  delicious  diet, 
loafing  and  inviting  my  soul  on  the  beach 
throughout  the  long  summer  days  ?  As  I 
think  of  it,  memory  brings  before  me  the 
stretch  of  yellow  grey  shore  with  the  rip 
pling  edge  of  the  water  gently  lapping  the 
sand  at  my  feet  as  the  tide  turns,  with  here 
and  there  protruding  the  gaunt  ribs  of  a 
wrecked  coaster,  covered  with  barnacles, 
and  with  waving  streamers  of  seaweed. 

Oh,  is  it  weed,  or  fish,  or  floating  hair  ?  — 
A  tress  o'  golden  hair, 
O'  drowned  maiden's  hair, 
Above  the  nets  at  sea  ? 

Behind  me  is  the  crumbling  bank  with  its 
ragged  edge  of  roots  and  overhanging  grass, 
and  with  the  pitch-pines  and  scrub-oaks 
clinging  for  dear  life  to  the  top  of  the  bluff, 
while  away,  away  in  front  stretch  the  shal 
low  waters  toward  Martha's  Vineyard  and 
Nantucket,  which  perchance  are  just  lifted 
by  the  mirage  upon  the  edge  of  the  distant 
horizon. 

And  just  here  a  blundering,  crooked 
branch  of  witch-hazel  stretches  across  the 
path,  and  we  are  again  on  Kattlesnake 
Mountain,  in  the  aisles  of  the  merry  green- 


106     FROM    A    NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

wood,  where  many  of  the  young  leaves  are 
yet  so  small  as  to  permit  the  eye  to  penetrate 
between  them  into  the  heart  of  the  forest. 
And  in  return,  I  cut  a  good  forked  branch 
of  the  witch-hazel  to  test  its  traditional 
virtues,  and  trim  it  to  the  satisfaction  of  my 
companion.  Is  it  to  be  wondered  at,  that  in 
the  hands  of  the  seeress  thus  equipped,  it 
shortly  pointed  toward  the  centre  of  the 
earth,  upon  a  spot  beneath  which  doubtless 
pulses  a  restless  spring,  eager  to  be  released  ? 
Far  be  it  from  us  to  suggest  a  distrust  of 
such  an  indication,  by  trying  to  pry  into 
the  heart  of  Nature's  secrets.  Much  more 
proper  was  it  to  show  our  loyalty  by  erect 
ing  upon  the  spot  a  monument  consisting  of 
the  wand  itself. 

The  convenient  path  winds  around  the 
side  of  the  hill,  here  a  scarcely  marked 
track,  and  there  deeply  gullied  by  the  late 
winter  torrents,  but  now  dry  and  irregularly 
strewn  with  loose  stones.  At  length  the 
bolder  rocks  come  into  view  upon  our  right, 
and  leaving  the  path  we  climb  from  head 
land  to  headland  until  we  are  upon  the  very 
summit,  with  the  world  of  town  and  city, 
farm  and  forest  spread  at  our  feet. 

The  long-wished-for  rain  has  not  come, 
and  the  Last  year's  leaves  are  dry,  and  miles 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      107 

away  to  the  northward  a  vast  cloud  of  grey 
smoke  from  fiercely  burning  woods  rises  in 
puffs  high  into  the  air,  and  spreads  itself  in 
gradually  attenuated  sheets  until  we  trace 
it  thinly  in  delicate  wreaths,  far  toward  the 
southern  horizon.  And  anon  comes  to  us  a 
whiff  of  its  agreeable  odour,  a  faint  apology 
for  the  cruel  wound  the  fire  is  making  upon 
the  distant  mountain -side. 

After  viewing  the  kingdoms  of  the  world 
and  the  glory  of  them,  we  sit  upon  the 
weather-worn  rock,  which  is  lined  here  and 
there  with  delicate  intersecting  ridges  of 
harder  material,  looking,  as  Phollis  says, 
like  the  interlaced  markings  upon  the  back 
of  a  Brobdignagian  hand.  And  from  his 
capacious  pocket,  the  scribe,  playing  an  an 
cient  and  familiar  trick, — familiar  at  least 
to  him,  produces  an  old-fashioned  blue  and 
gold  volume.  How  dainty  this  style  seemed 
to  us,  six  lustrums  ago,  before  the  begin 
ning  of  the  flood  of  handsome  and  handy 
books  with  which  the  publishers  have  fa 
voured  us  in  these  latter  years  !  And  we 
prize  them  yet,  and  this  among  the  best, 
this  book  of  dough's,  of  our  poet  immigrant 
of  forty  years  ago,  that  earnest  but  restless 
spirit,  whom  some  loved  so  much,  both  those 
who  knew  him  personally,  and  those  of  us 


I08     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

who  did  not,  and  whom  now  so  few  remem 
ber.  Some  things  that  he  wrote  they  can 
not  escape  knowing :  the  — 

Say  not,  the  struggle  naught  availeth, 
and 

As  ships,  becalmed  at  eve,  that  lay 
With  canvas  drooping,  side  by  side, 

Two  towers  of  sail  at  dawn  of  day 
Are  scarce,  long  leagues  apart  descried ; 

and 

Come  back,  come  back!  behold  with  strain 
ing  mast 

And  swelling  sail,  behold  her  steaming 
fast; 

ending  with  the  fine 

Come  back,  come  back ! 

Back  flics  the  foam ;  the  hoisted  flag  streams 

back; 
The  long  smoke  wavers  on  the  homeward 

track ; 
Back  fly  with  winds  things  which  the  winds 

obey : 
The  strong  ship  follows  its  appointed  way. 

And  some  of  these  things  the  scribe  read 
aloud  to  his  companion.  But  there  are 
many  more  that  they  ought  to  know,  others 
of  the  minor  poems,  and  the  "  Bothie,"  and 


FROM    A    NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      log 

parts  of  the  "Amours  de  Voyage,"  and 
"Dipsychus."  There  is  a  resonance,  a  lilt 
in  his  language,  as  in  the  accumulation  of 
Scotch  names  in 

Wherefore  in  Badenoch  then,  far  away,  in 

Lochaber,  Lochiel,  in 
Knoydart,  Moydart,   Morrer,  Ardgower,  and 

Ardnamurchan, 

but  there  is  more  than  the  resonance  and 
the  lilting.  And  as  the  scribe  reads  the 
familiar  words,  again  the  mountain  fades 
away,  and  he  is  a  boy  once  more,  reading 
aloud  on  a  long  carriage  journey  "The 
Bothie  of  Toper-na-Fuosich,"  as  it  was  first 
called,  his  heart  even  then  filled  and  swell 
ing  with  its  music,  and  its  suggestions  of 
another  and  far  different  world,  and  a  life 
covered  with  the  glamour  of  romance. 

MAY  17,  1891. 


IIO     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 


XX. 

"  —  and  on  this." 

LAST  evening  we  gathered  in  the  village 
hall,  and  La  Signora  Alba  beguiled  our  ears 
with  old  Volkslieder ;  with  pure  tone  and 
sympathetic  touch,  interpreting  alike  the 
lover's  appeal,  the  exile's  regret  at  parting, 
and  the  rich  phrases  of  the  chorale.  And 
then  we  went  out  into  the  night,  and  found 
the  path  necked  with  moonbeams,  and  each 
wished  to  see  the  other  safe  at  home,  and 
we  reached  the  end  of  the  village  street  ere 
it  seemed  time  to  turn  and  retrace  our  steps. 
And  a  tiny  nerve  fibre  somewhere  under  the 
scribe's  epidermis  vibrated  pleasantly  when 
Phillis  said  that  certain  sketches  by  an  un 
known  writer  seemed  fated  to  make  her 
cheerful  in  spite  of  herself. 

Left  alone  in  the  night,  I  remembered 
that  I  wished  to  mark  the  true  meridian 
upon  my  building  site,  so  that  the  cottage 
may  be  set  at  the  proper  angle.  It  is  to 
face  exactly  toward  the  northwest,  partly 


FROM    A    NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      Ill 

because  the  hill  slopes  in  that  direction, 
and  partly  that  the  sun,  which  dominates 
our  life,  may  at  some  time  on  every  bright 
day  send  its  purifying  rays  into  each  of 
its  rooms.  If  the  wild  flowers  of  the  field 
need  the  caressing  touch  of  the  sunlight, 
how  much  more  do  we,  of  the  larger  and 
fuller,  if  not  nobler  and  more  beautiful 
growth  ! 

So  I  mounted  the  hill,  and  climbed  the 
bars  into  the  meadow.  (I  do  not  readily 
become  accustomed  to  this  term  as  applied 
to  elevated  grounds  and  hillsides.  In  the 
Middle  States  I  have  only  heard  it  used  in 
relation  to  valley  lands.)  Notwithstanding 
the  drought,  the  grass  is  well  grown,  but  I 
found  it  perfectly  dry,  though  the  night  was 
not  cloudy.  I  remember  that  a  certain 
writer  whose  interesting  essays  I  have  re 
cently  read,  apparently  speaking  with  au 
thority,  tells  us  that  the  dew  ascends  from 
the  soil,  and  in  part  is  exuded  directly  by 
the  grass  and  other  plants.  If  this  be  true, 
—  and  the  ninth  edition  of  the  Encyclopedia 
Uritannica  does  not  confirm  it,  —  I  do  not 
wonder  that  the  grass  was  not  wet.  All 
the  soil  in  holes  dug  to-day  in  which  to 
plant  some  belated  fruit  and  shade  trees, 
was  found  to  be  dry  and  crumbling. 


112     FROM    A   NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

My  scheme  contemplated  an  observation 
of  the  pole  star,  which  was  visible,  but  only 
dimly,  because  of  the  moonlight,  and  be 
cause  the  atmosphere  was  full  of  what  ap 
peared  to  be  a  dry  haze,  presumably  smoke 
and  dust.  I  chose  this  plan  because  the 
variation  of  the  needle  here  is  considerable 
and  uncertain,  and  near  these  trap  ledges 
the  compass  is  apt  to  be  a  false  and  treach 
erous  guide. 

I  first  drove  a  slender  stake  into  the 
ground,  and  then  taking  another  a  few  feet 
to  the  southward  of  it,  and  humbling  my 
self  with  my  eye  close  to  mother  earth, 
took  repeated  observations  until  I  had  sat 
isfied  myself  that  I  had  secured  a  range  as 
accurate  as  possible.  Then  I  drove  in  my 
second  stake  firmly  also,  and  the  thing  was 
done. 

From  the  woodland  along  the  ledge, 
sounded  the  melancholy  note  of  the  whip- 
poor-will  ;  from  a  distant  kennel  came  the 
bark  of  an  uneasy  dog ;  lamps  shone  from 
windows  here  and  there  ;  and  all  the  valley 
was  suffused  with  the  soft  light  of  the 
moon,  in  which  every  object  finally  disap 
peared  in  a  nebulous  haze.  It  was  the  first 
time  that  I  had  stood  at  this  hour  upon  the 
spot  with  which  the  future  is  to  make  me 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      113 

so  familiar  in  all  its  phases.  At  such  a 
place,  at  such  a  time,  one  has  a  curiously 
mingled  sense  of  solitude  and  companion 
ship.  No  one  was  near  me  ;  no  one  knew 
where  I  was,  —  perhaps  no  one  greatly 
cared :  — 

I  heard  the  trailing  garments  of  the  Night 

Sweep  through  her  marble  halls  ! 
I  saw  her  sable  skirts  all  fringed  with  light 

From  the  celestial  walls  ! 
I  felt  her  presence,  by  its  spell  of  might, 

Stoop  o'er  me  from  above  ; 
The  calm,  majestic  presence  of  the  Night, 

As  of  the  one  I  love. 

But  before  and  below  me,  here  and  there, 
twinkled  the  home  stars,  around  which  were 
gathered  father  and  mother,  sister  and 
brother  —  yes  and  doubtless 

—  a  dearer  one 
Still,  and  a  nearer  one 
Yet  than  all  other. 

Might  I  not  venture  to  claim  a  part  in  all 
this  home-life,  and,  resting  upon  my  solitary 
terrace,  drop  a  gentle  thought  to  mingle 
with,  perhaps  to  fructify  and  stimulate  the 
lives  which  it  should  touch  ? 

MAY  17,  1894. 


114     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 


XXI. 

Sweet  day,  so  cool,  so  calm,  so  bright, 
The  bridal  of  the  earth  and  sky. 

IT  has  been  absolutely  superb.  The  long 
storm  with  which  the  drought  closed  has 
finally  passed  away,  and  it  has  left  us  with 
the  atmosphere  washed  clean,  but  with  great 
floating  masses  of  cloud,  lagging,  not  by  any 
means  superfluous,  upon  the  stage,  but  so 
as  to  present  to  us  every  variety  of  beauty 
that  we  could  desire. 

I  have  spent  nearly  the  whole  day,  sit 
ting  in  the  shade  of  my  own  ash  tree,  read 
ing  and  receiving  sundry  callers,  and  listen 
ing  to  the  birds  of  all  sorts  and  sizes,  as 
merry  as  grigs  ;  and  anon  looking  across 
the  field  of  the  cloth  of  gold  made  by  the 
buttercups,  upon  the  valley  and  the  distant 
hills,  where  the  shadows  of  the  slowly 
moving  clouds  produced  an  ever- vary  ing 
play  of  light  that  was  infinitely  beautiful. 

And  I  have  been  travelling  in  delightful 
familiar  paths,  and  steeping  myself  in  the 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      115 

joys  of  the  past,  tempered  by  that  regret 
which  must  now  always  endure,  as  I  have 
read  the  manuscript  pages  of  the  story  of 
the  life  of  our  Bayard,  our  knight  without 
fear  and  without  reproach,  Curtis,  whom, 
alas !  we  shall  see  no  more  on  this  earth 
forever.  What  joy  he  would  have  taken  in 
this  day  and  in  this  spot  !  There  were  no 
need  of  Tit  bottom's  spectacles,  and  the 
finest  castles  in  Spain  could  not  rank  as  real 
estate  at  a  higher  value  than  the  invisible 
cottage  outlined  by  cords,  arid  surrounded 
by  rough  boarding  here  at  my  side,  which 
he  would  so  gladly  have  seen  complete  and 
tenanted. 

How  can  it  be  possible  that  any  one  who 
was  so  fortunate  as  to  be  baptized  with  the 
holy  chrism  of  the  love  and  confidence  of 
this  sweet  and  tender  spirit,  should  ever 
thereafter  do  an  unworthy  thing  or  think 
an  unworthy  thought !  Alas  !  that  it  should 
be  so  !  As  I  read,  and  the  years  of  the 
past  are  recalled,  I  again  become  conscious 
of  the  noble  presence,  I  feel  once  more  the 
touch  of  the  gentle  hand,  I  see  the  tender, 
affectionate  look  in  the  true  eye,  and  I  hear 
the  musical  voice  which  is  now  silent  for- 
evermore.  Ah  !  me  !  it  is  worth  having 
lived  to  have  had  such  a  friend  ;  and  how 


Il6     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

wide  and  rich  was  his  capacity  for  friend 
ship  ! 

Last  week  it  was  my  fortune  to  attend 
a  meeting  at  the  club  of  those  who  are 
charged  with  the  duty  of  preparing  some 
appropriate  memorial  which  shall  testify  to 
coming  generations  of  the  supreme  regard 
in  which  he  is  held  by  many  of  the  best  of 
this.  There  was  the  ex-mayor,  who  is  rap 
idly  building  a  somnolent  college  into  a 
great  university  ;  there  was  the  poet-editor 
who  lately  sang  of  the  blossoming  and  the 
evanishment  of  the  great  White  City  ;  there 
was  the  genial  essayist,  my  neighbour  —  still 
going  with  good  cheer  on  his  little  journey 
in  the  world ;  there  was  the  representative 
of  the  time-honoured  publishing  house  of  the 
Cheerible  brothers  ;  there  was  the  barrister 
by  whom  rogues  most  dread  to  be  cross- 
examined,  the  doctor  for  whom  the  profes 
sion  does  not  afford  a  field  broad  enough 
for  his  energies,  the  painter  who  knows 
how  to  catch  the  very  spirit  of  the  New 
England  village,  and  the  general  who  can 
hold  an  audience  hanging  upon  his  word, 
and  who  can  tell,  because  he  saw  it  with 
his  own  eyes,  how  his  great  chief  received 
the  sword  of  Lee  under  the  tree  at  Appo- 
rnattox.  And  there  were  the  best  of  words 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      117 

from  the  wise  and  shrewd  bishop  who  can 
drive  in  double  harness  in  perfect  amicable- 
ness  such  curiously  mismated  clerical 
steeds,  and  over  the  vibrating  wire  came 
the  voice  of  our  good  friend  who  gives  me 
the  privilege  that  I  have  enjoyed  to-day. 
It  was  a  noteworthy  company,  and  testified, 
as  it  has  been  testified  in  many  ways,  to  the 
strong  and  vital  influence  which  he  of  whom 
I  write,  whether  in  the  field  of  political 
conflict,  upon  the  rostrum,  at  the  desk,  in 
the  Easy  Chair,  or  by  the  fireside,  has  exer 
cised  upon  the  best  of  his  generation. 

As  I  turn  over  these  pages,  I  strike  upon 
passages  which  bring  up  vividly  picture 
after  picture.  As  this,  in  a  letter  written 
on  the  20th  of  April,  1861  :  "  This  day  in 
New  York  has  been  beyond  description, 
and  remember,  if  we  lose  Washington  to 
night  or  to-morrow,  as  we  probably  shall, 
we  have  taken  New  York.'1'1  Do  you  real 
ize  that  in  that  crisis  it  really  seemed  that 
Washington  must  go,  and  that  it  is  most 
singular  that  it  did  not  ?  It  was  completely 
at  the  mercy  of  the  southern  troops.  In 
April,  1892,  while  a  party  of  us  were  on 
our  way  to  Baltimore,  our  friend  the  gen 
eral  —  not  the  general  of  whom  I  spoke  a 
moment  ago  —  told  us  the  story  of  how  he 


Il8     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

reached  Washington  by  stealth  in  those 
days  of  suspense,  bearing  dispatches  which 
conveyed  to  the  President  and  the  cabinet 
from  the  governor  of  this  state  of  ours,  the 
first  news  which  they  received  of  the  rising 
in  the  North,  —  the  good  news  that  the  boys 
had  begun  that  great  inarch  which  was  to 
last  four  weary  years.  The  enemy  com 
manded  the  city,  and  must  have  failed  to 
occupy  it  simply  because  they  did  not  know 
that  they  had  but  to  march  in  and  take 
possession.  And  then  a  few  hours,  and  the 
news  came  that  the  troops  were  near  by, 
and  our  friend  was  told  to  watch  the  flag 
staff  upon  the  Senate  end  of  the  capitol, 
because  the  flag  would  be  displayed  there 
from  the  instant  the  boys  came  in  sight. 
And  then  a  few  moments  more  of  suspense, 
and  behold  the  flag  was  flung  to  the  breeze, 
and  Washington  was  saved. 

Or  this  fragment  from  a  letter  of  April  4, 
1865  :  "  I  thought  of  you  all  the  day  yester 
day  as  the  news  of  the  crowning  mercy  came 
rolling  in.  The  merchants  and  brokers  in 
Wall  street  came  out  of  their  dens  and  sang 
'  Old  Hundred '  and  '  John  Brown.1  "  Do  I 
not  remember  it  as  though  it  were  yester 
day  ?  What  an  inexpressible  joy  there  was 
in  the  air,  and  how  we  all  tried  to  do  what 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      1 19 

we  could  to  express  it !  The  leaders  stood 
in  the  great  dark  colonnade  of  the  custom 
house,  but  the  day  was  bright,  and  our  hearts 
were  full ;  the  street  was  crowded  as  far  as 
one  could  see,  and  we  sang  and  sang,  until 
we  were  all  hoarse.  How  dark  the  cloud 
had  been,  and  how  long  and  dreary  the 
days  ;  but  now  the  cloud  was  lifted,  the  end 
had  come  ! 

And  I  see  another  picture.  Peace  had 
lasted  for  almost  a  generation,  and  we,  a 
non-combatant  body-guard,  accompanied 
the  orator  on  his  way  to  deliver  the  address 
on  the  twenty-fifth  anniversary  of  the  battle 
of  Gettysburg,  in  July,  1888.  Of  the  dozen 
who  formed  the  party  then,  alas!  already 
the  chief  and  three  others  have  joined  the 
majority.  But  then  were  three  perfect 
days,  in  which  Walter  Howe,  who  was  to 
leave  us  in  his  prime,  catered  for  the  party 
as  though  he  had  been  to  the  manner  born. 
Pearson  told  us  of  the  trials  which  encom 
pass  the  man  who  undertakes  to  do  his 
simple  duty  in  a  great  office,  and  Barlow 
showed  us  where  he  fought,  bled,  and  almost 
died  in  the  good  cause.  And  the  leader  hal 
lowed  us  all  by  his  presence,  and  focussed 
in  himself  the  interests  and  the  aspirations 
of  all.  And  we  explored  the  wildnesses  of 


120     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

the  Devil's  Den,  and  became  appropriately 
confused  between  Seminary  Hill  and  Ceme 
tery  Hill,  and  looked  upon  the  sea  of  faces 
from  the  North  and  from  the  South,  and 
listened  to  the  silver  tones  of  the  orator  of 
the  day  at  the  gathering  place  in  the  na 
tional  cemetery,  and  to  the  manly  words  of 
Longstreet  and  of  Gordon,  who  had  been 
leaders  in  the  invading  army. 

And  again :  I  see  the  streets  of  the  Monu 
mental  city  in  April,  1892,  and  then  a  great 
company  gathered  around  a  festal  board. 
And  as  the  leader  rises  to  speak,  so  rise 
also  all  the  members  of  the  company,  with 
cheer  upon  cheer,  and  with  eyes  moist  with 
the  dew  that  comes  to  men  only  when  the 
heart  is  touched.  And  before  me  now  lies 
the  pencilled  draft  which  so  inadequately 
recalls  that  speech  as  it  was  delivered,  that 
choicest  of  after-dinner  speeches.  And  I 
hear  him  conclude:  "Whatever  may  be 
come  of  us,  fellow  pioneers,  I  say  to  you  as 
Latimer  said  to  Kidley  at  the  stake:  'Be 
of  good  cheer,  Brother  Ridley,  for  we  shall 
this  day  light  such  a  candle  in  England  as 
shall  never  be  put  out.'  If  I  were  to  pro 
pose  a  legend  for  the  league,  I  should  turn 
again  to  the  episcopate,  and  take  the  reputed 
words  of  the  most  famous  of  English  church- 


FROM   A   NEW    ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      121 

men,  the  cardinal  who  was  the  great  master 
of  statecraft  in  his  time,  whom  Shakespeare 
re-created  for  the  English-speaking  race, 
'Corruption  wins  not  more  than  honesty.' 

"  It  is  the  spring  of  the  year,  and  it  is  the 
springtime  of  reform.  It  is  not  the  har 
vest,  but  it  is  the  sowing.  The  blossoms 
that  open  in  this  soft  spring  air  are  flowers 
only,  not  yet  fruit.  But  they  are  promises 
of  the  summer,  and  the  fruit  is  sure.  They 
are  voluntary  pledges  of  nature,  and  in  its 
benign  administration  in  which  seed-time 
and  harvest  never  fail,  those  pledges  will 
be  completely  fulfilled.  The  little  twig  of 
Magna  Charta  has  become  the  wide-spread 
ing  tree  of  English  liberty.  Our  bud  of 
reform  will  become  a  system  of  honester 
politics." 

And  then  as  we  rumbled  through  the  other 
wise  silent  streets,  he  and  I,  on  the  way  to 
our  temporary  abiding  place  in  the  hospi 
table  mansion  of  our  good  friend,  whose 
countenance  so  strongly  reminds  us  of  the 
First  Consul  —  as  well  it  may, — the  stars 
beaming  and  the  moon  flooding  our  path 
with  its  limpid  light,  softened  and  touched 
and  exhilarated  by  the  loyalty,  the  affection, 
the  generous  emotion  which  had  been  shown 
him  on  every  hand,  and  with  the  knowledge 


122     FROM    A   NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

that  the  good  cause,  the  purification  of  the 
public  service  and  of  methods  of  adminis 
tration,  was  moving  steadily  forward,  — 
though  never  so  full  of  life,  it  seemed  as 
though  he  might  have  sung  his  "  nunc 
dimittis."  And  is  it  any  wonder  that  we 
felt  it  hard,  even  at  that  small  hour,  to  seek 
our  couches  ?  — 

—  the  best  of  all  ways 
To  lengthen  our  days, 

Is  to  steal  a  few  hours  from  the  night,  my 
dear. 

Tom  Moore's  lines  never  came  more  appro 
priately  than  as  he  quoted  them  then,  look 
ing  out  upon  the  night ;  but  indeed  the 
night,  that  night  of  nights,  seemed  speeding 
all  too  soon. 

MAY  27, 1894. 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      123 


THE  boring  of  the  well  was  stopped  at  a 
depth  of  seventy-eight  feet,  a  tiny  stream 
from  some  mysterious  source  having  been 
intercepted,  which  promises  an  ample  sup 
ply  for  all  time  to  come.  And  yesterday 
the  spade  was  put  into  the  ground,  and  now 
the  gasli  then  made  in  the  fresh  green  turf 
has  grown  into  a  long  and  broad  rectangular 
hole,  with  certain  projections,  in  which  the 
cottage  is  to  be  planted.  It  is  to  be  set 
upon  the  hardpan,  and  firmly  adjusted  to 
the  hillside  and  tied  to  the  soil  by  the  roots 
of  embracing  vines,  thus  becoming  by  graft 
a  permanent  part  of  the  field,  as  it  is  to  be 
hoped  that  the  life  which  it  will  enshrine 
may  become  a  permanent  part  of  the  life 
of  this  village. 

In  no  respect,  perhaps,  is  our  condition 
at  so  great  a  disadvantage  when  contrasted 
with  that  of  the  old  world,  as  in  the  lack  of 
ancestral  homes.  We  are  continually  on 
the  move.  We  are  always  new.  We  never 
let  our  roots  have  time  enough  to  become 


124     FROM   A   NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

attached  to  the  soil,  but  are  incessantly 
tearing  them  up  and  breaking  off  all  the 
delicate  fibres  through  which  they  should 
drink  in  the  life  needed  to  sustain  us  for 
fine  social  uses.  We  not  only  ''have  no 
continuing  city"  here,  —  which  would  not 
be  so  bad,  since  we  have  no  city  which  as  a 
whole  is  yet  worthy  of  continuance,  —  but 
we  have  no  continuing  country,  either. 
We  are  like  the  people  at  Mt.  Desert ; 
some  of  us  are  cottagers,  and  some  of  us 
are  boarders,  and  some  of  us  are  hauled 
inealers,  and  some  are  only  mealers. 

Perhaps  this  is  the  most  inappropriate 
place  in  the  country  in  which  to  indulge 
such  reflections,  for  in  this  village  there  is 
a  certain  permanence,  and  one  finds  around 
him  owners  of  one  or  other  of  nearly  all 
the  names  which  appear  upon  the  records 
of  two  hundred  and  fifty  years  ago.  This 
is  one  of  the  great  attractions  of  the  village, 
and  it  is  much  to  be  hoped  that  if  it  should 
gradually  lose  this  distinction  of  permanence 
it  will  only  be  through  the  increase  in  that 
quality  on  the  part  of  other  localities.  For 
I  am  persuaded,  not  that  immovability  is  a 
supreme  virtue,  but  that  a  vital  attachment 
between  a  family  and  its  environment  is  a 
good  thing.  And  this  refers  both  to  the 


FROM    A    NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      125 

relation  between  the  family  and  the  com 
munity,  and  to  the  relation  between  the 
family  and  its  home.  It  is  a  good  thing  to 
be  born,  to  live,  and  to  die  in  the  same 
house  ;  to  have  associations  with  every 
nook  and  cranny,  to  be  in  touch  with  every 
turn  and  corner ;  to  have  associations  of 
childhood  and  of  youth,  of  manhood  or 
womanhood  and  of  old  age.  And  it  is  a 
good  thing  to  have  generation  follow  gener 
ation,  or  if  fate  may  not  be  so  kind,  to  have 
still  a  continuous  family-life  by  some  sort 
of  incorporation  or  adoption,  which  may  go 
on  from  age  to  age. 

I  care  not  whether  it  be  objective  or 
simply  subjective,  the  kindred  feeling  which 
grows  strong  between  the  animate  tenant 
and  the  inanimate  domicile,  its  stones,  its 
beams,  and  its  projecting  roof  ;  it  is  just  as 
real  and  just  as  true.  Even  in  the  great 
city  hive,  with  its  numberless  cells,  our 
own  particular  cell  soon  seems  to  receive 
us  with  a  friendly  welcome  all  its  own. 
But  this  is  merely  a  proof  of  the  strength 
of  an  imperious  instinct.  It  is  out  under 
the  blue  heaven,  where  there  are  trees  and 
grassy  fields,  where  a  house  has  four  sides, 
and  all  open  to  the  winds  and  the  seasons  ; 
where  there  are  individual  stepping-stones 


126     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

worn  by  the  outgoing  and  incoming  of  gen 
erations  ;  where  there  is  a  fireside  at  which 
have  been  whispered  tender  vows,  where 
merry  peals  of  laughter  have  been  heard, 
and  jest  and  roundelay  ;  where  hearts  have 
bled  and  heads  have  been  bowed  in  sor 
row  ;  it  is  only  here  that  human  life  seems  to 
become  really  and  truly  a  settled  and  inte 
gral  and  organic  part  of  the  world  life. 

MAY  30,  1894. 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      127 


XXIII. 

IT  set  me  thinking.  What  was  it  ?  Why, 
the  other  evening  in  the  cloister,  we  had  a 
little  concert  by  the  Kneisel  quartet;  it 
was  this  which  set  me  thinking. 

In  the  first  place,  I  wondered  whether  it 
were  possible  that  those  whose  ears  are 
trained  to  all  the  niceties  of  musical  com 
position  and  expression,  whose  knowledge 
makes  that  of  tlie  mere  layman  seem  as 
nothingness,  could  have  an  enjoyment  in 
this  wealth  of  sound  in  proportion  to  their 
knowledge.  I  confess  that  I  found  myself 
a  little  inclined  to  skepticism.  I  remem 
bered  the  princess  who  tossed  and  tossed 
upon  her  bed,  because  of  the  rose-leaf  hid 
den  beneath  —  how  many  mattresses  was 
it  ?  Extreme  delicacy  and  sensibility  bring 
with  them  a  certain  penalty,  and  possibly, 
after  all,  we  of  the  grosser  natures  have 
our  compensation,  and  in  the  long  run 
drink  a  deeper  draught  of  life.  I  will  not 
push  the  suggestion,  for  I  am  not  by  any 
means  sure  that  it  is  true.  The  s 


128     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

moments  pay  for  ages  of  commonplace  and 
of  suffering.  Against  those  who  hold  that 
the  days  of  childhood  are  one's  happiest 
days,  I  shall  always  boldly  contend.  It  is 
not  possible.  Perhaps  it  may  appear  so 
from  the  outside,  and  upon  a  superficial 
view.  The  accumulating  years  bring  sor 
row  in  their  train,  pain  and  deep  distress, 
and  desolation.  But  they  bring  also  the 
wider  and  fuller  capacity  for  enjoyment, 
and  for  most  —  can  I  not  say,  for  all  ?  — 
moments,  at  least,  of  delight  compared  with 
which  the  pleasures  of  a  child  are  as  a 
glow-worm's  tiny  spark  to  the  giant  search 
light  which  threw  its  beam  athwart  the 
sky  from  the  roof  of  the  Hall  of  the  Liberal 
Arts. 

I  can  only  say  that  if  the  enjoyment  of 
these  knowing  ones  is  so  much  greater 
than  ours,  it  is  impossible  to  understand 
how  they  can  endure  it.  It  seems  as  if  the 
nerves  must  reach  such  a  tension  at  a  cer 
tain  point  in  their  vibration  that  they  must 
of  necessity  give  way,  and  the  individual 
must  dissolve  into  his  original  elements,  as 
the  Prince  Rupert's  drop,  when  the  point  is 
broken,  rlies  into  an  impalpable  powder. 

And  then  I  thought  of  the  stages  by 
which  this  sensibility  has  been  reached, 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      129 

of  the  long  journey  which  our  race  has 
travelled,  and  the  races  which  preceded  it, 
since  time  began.  Modern  music  and  the 
ear  to  which  it  commends  itself  are  but  a 
few  hundred  years  old,  but  far  back  of  this 
period,  the  ear  that  was  not  pleased  with 
concord  of  sweet  sounds,  was  doubtless 
already  fit  for  treasons,  stratagems,  and 
spoils,  although  the  sounds  which  were 
sweet  then,  might  not  now  so  seem  to  us. 
And  farther  still  in  the  distance,  we  should 
reach  the  tom-tom  and  its  contemporaries. 
Hut  this  is  still  in  modern  times.  Away, 
far,  far  beyond,  the  thought  is  carried, 
back  to  the  dawn  of  that  which  •  we  call 
life,  to  the  point  where  the  inorganic  (who 
shall  dare  to  say  that  it  has  not  life  ?) 
merges  indistinguishably  and  by  slow  de 
grees  into  the  organic. 

We  talk  of  the  five  senses,  but  how  many 
senses  there  may  be  we  do  not  know.  ID 
this  early  dawn  of  which  I  dream,  hearing 
was  not,  nor  sight,  taste  was  not,  nor  smell, 
and  feeling  was  but  about  to  be  born. 

Have  you  ever  lived  with  a  microscope 
of  high  power,  watching  those  infinitesimal 
vegetable  specks,  the  diatoms,  travelling 
around  in  the  vast  waste  of  the  minutest 
drop  of  water  that  you  could  lift  upon  the 
K 


130     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

point  of  a  needle,  wandering  from  place  to 
place,  crossing,  meeting,  and  passing  on, 
each  delicately  and  exquisitely  marked 
with  a  myriad  lines  and  dots,  every  one 
according  to  his  kind  ?  Already  you  are 
far  from  the  beginning.  You  must  go  back, 
far  back  of  these  until  you  reach  the  verge 
of  the  amorphous,  until  you  can  hardly 
more  than  guess  that  there  exists  either 
form  or  motion  or  individuality.  You  find 
at  length  that  which  gives  evidence  of  at 
traction  or  repulsion  at  its  lowest  term,  at 
a  point  a  thousand  ages  before  anything 
that  you  can  predicate  as  consciousness. 
Between-this  point  and  the  point  to  which 
I  called  your  attention  at  the  opening  of 
this  note,  lies  the  gulf  which  has  been 
crossed  ;  this  is  the  journey  of  life  of  which 
I  speak. 

Realize  it  if  you  can.  Try  to  picture  to 
yourself  this  great  march  of  the  living  uni 
verse  ;  the  life  born  in  the  atom,  growing 
and  spreading  and  reaching  forward,  life 
added  to  life,  life  piled  upon  life,  life  ever 
richer  and  fuller  and  deeper  and  higher ; 
touch  and  taste  and  smell  and  sight  and 
hearing ;  thought  and  memory  and  reflec 
tion  ;  imagination  and  speculation  ;  love 
and  honour  and  reverence  and  devotion. 


FROM    A    NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      13! 

And  ever  as  the  sight  grows  stronger  and 
the  vision  clearer,  the  horizon  widens,  and 
the  inscrutable  power  which  includes,  em 
braces,  and  controls  us  becomes  more  in 
timate,  more  majestic,  more  absolutely 
^indefinable,  more  awe-inspiring,  — 

a  sense  sublime 

Of  something  far  more  deeply  interfused, 
Whose  dwelling  in  the  light  of  setting  suns, 
And  the  round  ocean  and  the  living  air, 
And  the  blue  sky,  and  in  the  mind  of  man : 
A  motion  and  a  spirit,  that  impels 
All  thinking  things,  all  objects  of  all  thought, 
And  rolls  through  all  things. 

JUNE  6, 1894. 


132     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 


XXIV. 

"DOUBTLESS  God  could  have  made  a 
better  berry,  but  doubtless  God  never 
did."  Thus  genial  Izaak  Walton  quotes 
Dr.  Boteler  concerning  the  strawberry. 
Upon  the  hill-top  and  in  the  meadow,  the 
ripe,  wild  berries  are  now  sparkling,  a  vivid 
red  amid  the  green  in  the  occasional  sun 
shine,  staining  the  dainty  fingers  of  the 
picker,  and  telling  tales  upon  the  rosy  lip 
even  though  the  toll  be  light.  This  after 
noon  I  found  them  so  plentiful  over  a  con 
siderable  space,  that  I  could  not  put  my 
foot  down  among  them  without  crushing 
some.  These  wild  berries  are  small,  but 
they  have  a  pleasant  flavour  of  freedom 
about  them.  I  wonder  whether  this  would 
flee  as  soon  as  we  tried  to  tame  them  ? 

I  see  that  it  is  said  that  our  present  cul 
tivated  berries  are  descended  from  a  Chili 
strawberry,  this  having  succeeded  an  ear 
lier  form  developed  from  the  Virginia 
berry.  Perhaps  it  might  not  be  amiss  to 
take  a  new  start.  The  markets  of  our 


FROM   A    NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      133 

great  cities  call  for  such  enormous  supplies 
of  fruit,  that  they  must  be  brought  from 
vast  distances,  and  as  a  consequence  those 
varieties  are  encouraged  which  will  bear 
preservation  and  transportation.  In  soft 
fruits,  therefore,  especially  strawberries  and 
peaches,  there  is  a  tendency  to  sacrifice 
flavour  and  delicacy  for  these  qualities  of 
permanence,  until  Dr.  Boteler,  or  Butler, 
might  not  be  able  always  to  recognize  the 
berry  that  he  loved. 

One  of  my  neighbours  called  upon  me  yes 
terday  to  accompany  her  over  the  hill  to 
investigate  a  shrub  or  small  tree  which  had 
aroused  her  curiosity.  It  proved  to  be  the 
prickly  ash  or  toothache  tree,  of  which  I 
have  many  in  my  wood,  a  tree  worth  cul 
tivating,  especially  on  account  of  its  bright 
berries.  This  particular  specimen  showed 
a  peculiarity  which  I  have  not  noticed  in 
others,  a  tendency  in  some  of  the  branches 
to  flatten  at  the  joints  or  intersections,  and 
to  form  ridges  something  like  acock's-comb. 
The  books  do  not  seem  to  refer  to  this.  I 
shall  have  to  examine  further  to  determine 
whether  it  is  constitutional,  simply  an 
idiosyncrasy,  or  due  to  insect  or  fungoid 
igency.  The  two  latter  causes  of  peculiar 
egetable  growth  are  so  multifarious  in 


134     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

their  forms  of  working,  and  withal  so  mar 
vellous,  that  the  specialist  alone  can  make 
much  headway  in  their  investigation. 

We  saw  in  the  same  locality  a  specimen 
of  the  viburnum  opulns  or  bush-cranberry, 
which  I  am  glad  to  discover  in  my  neigh 
bourhood.  It  was  quite  new  to  me  when  I 
found  it  last  summer,  up  in  the  neighbour 
hood  of  "Sky  farm"  and  Mt.  Everett,  its 
profusion  of  richly  coloured  berries  putting 
to  shame  the  tame  prim  crudities  of  the 
mountain  ash.  I  thought  it  much  more  at 
tractive  than  its  cultivated  descendant,  the 
guelder  rose  or  snowball  of  our  gardens. 

The  heavy  and  frequent  rains  which  fol 
lowed  the  brief  drought  have  produced  a 
great  development  in  the  leafage,  and  I 
think  that  I  never  saw  the  forest  more 
dense  or  luxuriant.  The  scaffolding  of  the 
hills  is  concealed,  and  only  here  and  there 
can  we  now  trace  from  a  distance  the 
lines  of  crag.  Upon  the  fields  we  find  a 
succession  of  colours,  pleasant  to  look  upon, 
though  not  always  gratifying  to  the  fanner. 
At  first  I  thought  that  I  was  to  have  a  beau 
tifully  uniform  crop  of  hay,  —  the  turf 
seemed  so  green  and  smooth.  Then  it  be 
came  sprinkled  here  and  there  with  quaker 
ladies  or  bluets,  as  if  some  careless  body 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      135 

had  been  trying  to  cover  the  sky  with  a 
coat  of  whitewash,  with  just  a  tint  of  blue 
in  it,  and  had  allowed  the  colour  from  his 
brush  to  spatter  all  over  the  carpet.  After 
this  came  the  buttercups,  and  made  a  very 
sea  of  gold,  which*  I  fear  as  a  circulating 
medium  would  prove  almost  as  worthless 
as  the  silver  which  our  western  friends 
desire  us  to  accept,  though  certainly  much 
more  beautiful.  And  now  we  have  the  ox- 
eye  daisy,  known  by  those  upon  whom  is 
imposed  the  duty  of  trying  to  exterminate 
it  as  the  whiteweed,  but  christened  by  Lin- 
meus  with  the  imposing  name  of  chrys 
anthemum  leucanthemum.  Myriads  and 
myriads  of  the  starry  disks  look  up  into  the 
sky  to  see  their  fellows  of  the  firmament. 
Phollis  says  that  they  are  small  and  degen 
erate  and  not  worthy  representatives  of  the 
race,  but  I  know  better.  And  besides,  I 
am  glad  that  they  are  small ;  such  are  the 
best  kind. 

But  as  I  look  over  the  field  I  seem  to 
hear  the  grass  saying  in  the  popular  slang: 
"Where  do  I  come  in?"  My  neighbour 
over  the  way  has  purchased  my  crop  of 
hay  in  advance,  and  I  hope  that  he  may 
find  it.  I  know  one  spot  where  it  is  lush 
and  high,  and  here  among  the  long  thick 


136     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

green  leaves,  you  may  discover  the  most 
glorious  heads  of  the  red  clover  that  you 
ever  saw,  full  of  honey,  too,  which  I  envy 
the  bees.  And  there  comes  a  great  buzzer 
who  lias  found  the  store,  and  means  to  con 
test  with  us  the  possessiifn  of  the  Held.  And 
I  am  sure  that  he  is  armed  for  the  fray,  and 
that  courtesy  requires  that  I  should  speed 
the  parting  guest,  the  stranger  within  my 
gates,  who  carries  away  some  of  my  berries 
and  a  bit  of  my  heart  as  well,  and  so  pluck 
ing  a  handful  of  the  showy  heads  I  grace 
fully  retire  from  the  contest  without  breaking 
a  lance. 

And  what  if  we  linger  at  the  bars,  while 
I  try  in  vain  to  parry,  to  find  fitting  defence 
and  reply  to  the  verbal  arrows  which  are 
shot  at  me  ?  One  must  sometimes  —  to  him 
self  only,  mind  you  —  admit  defeat,  and 
learn  to  find  a  wholesome  enjoyment  in  the 
same. 

JUNE  7,  1891 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      137 


XXV. 

"  GOD  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn 
lamb."  Though  it  was  Laurence  Sterne 
that  wrote  it,  I  am  sure  that  no  indignity 
has  been  done  the  Bible  by  its  common 
attribution  to  that  source,  and  it  is  no  less 
truly  descriptive  of  the  fact  than  if  it  were 
to  be  found  upon  the  pages  of  the  holiest  of 
books.  For  though  his  ways  are  said  not 
to  be  as  our  ways  and  his  thoughts  not  to 
be  as  our  thoughts,  and  though  the  sun  rises 
upon  the  evil  and  upon  the  good,  and  the 
rain  falls  upon  the  just  and  the  unjust  alike, 
nevertheless  the  winds  are  tempered  in  a 
very  real  fashion.  For  what  matters  it 
how  biting  the  blast,  if  we  do  not  feel  it  ? 
And  is  it  not  the  universal  human  experi 
ence  that  how  sore  soever  troubles  may  be, 
the  neck  gradually  becomes  accustomed  to 
the  yoke,  the  new  conditions  are  accepted 
as  a  part  of  the  natural  order,  and  we  grad 
ually  find  ourselves  adjusted  to  them  ?  Even 
though  at  first  it  seems  as  if  all  the  sweet 
ness  had  gone  out  of  life,  as  if  in  future, 


138     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

summer  and  winter,  seed-time  and  harvest, 
would  be  for  us  as  it'  they  were  not,  at 
length  we  see  the  sunlight  again,  we  hear 
the  lark  sing,  we  inhale  the  fragrance  of 
the  rose  ;  as  it  was  in  the  beginning,  we 
look  upon  creation,  and  behold  it  is  very 
good. 

The  adjustment  takes  a  little  time  ;  we 
have  to  become  accustomed  to  the  new  con 
ditions  ;  new  channels  must  be  opened  ;  but 
the  fact  that  stunned  us  in  the  morning  — 
by  the  evening  we  have  always  known  it. 
If  our  fortunes  have  suddenly  changed,  and 
all  seems  lost,  wait  but  a  few  hours  and  we 
are  busy  with  new  devices,  seeking  out  new 
combinations,  finding  hope  where  hope 
there  seemed  none. 

I  remember  that  at  one  time  in  my  boy 
hood  I  was  engaged  in  an  office  in  the 
neighbourhood  of  a  great  town  clock  —  it 
was  that  of  Independence  Hall  in  Philadel 
phia.  The  peals  of  the  bell  striking  the 
hour  seemed  loud  enough  to  wake  the  dead. 
But  after  a  while  it  became  a  thing  of  cus 
tom.  I  would  say  to  myself,  "I  will  look 
at  my  watch  and  compare  it  when  the  clock 
strikes  twelve,"  and  then  I  would  go  on  with 
my  writing,  and  some  time  later  suddenly 
remember  and  take  out  my  watch  and  find 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      139 

that  the  great  bell  must  have  rung  out  its 
twelve  heavy  strokes  a  half-hour  before,  yet 
the  accustomed  nerve  of  sense  had  conveyed 
no  message  to  the  brain. 

Sometimes  the  friction  endures,  and  the 
note  of  pain  reaches  the  bystander  after 
many  days,  months,  or  years.  I  have  been 
sitting  in  the  wood,  and  as  the  wind  swayed 
the  branches  I  would  hear  the  appeal  of 
some  dryad  among  them,  moaning  in  her 
pain.  Sometimes  it  has  required  quite  a 
long  search  to  discover  the  sufferer,  but  at 
length  it  would  be  found,  a  branch  which 
year  after  year  had  borne  the  burden  of 
another,  ever  becoming  heavier  and  more 
insistent  as  the  years  rolled  on,  and  grind 
ing  its  way  into  the  vital  substance.  And 
then  again  I  have  found  instances  where  as 
time  had  passed  the  two  had  become  incor 
porate,  and  the  wood  nymph  had  escaped 
her  torture  by  appropriating  her  burden  as 
an  integral  part  of  her  substance. 

It  is  well  when  strength  can  thus  be  con 
quered  from  calamity.  Each  time  Antseus 
was  thrown  to  the  ground,  his  vigour  was  in 
creased  ;  contact  with  mother  earth  gave 
strength  to  her  child.  So  it  should  be  al 
ways,  and  so,  I  fondly  hope,  it  usually  is. 

But  when  I  began,  I  was  thinking  more 


140     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

particularly  of  the  beneficence  of  the  ar 
rangement  by  which  that  which  at  first  is 
the  cause  of  much  perplexity,  of  great  dis 
tress,  of  sore  grief,  soon  becomes  diluted 
as  it  were,  mixed  with  other  ingredients, 
and  even  before  any  solution  is  found,  any 
issue  is  discovered,  ceases  to  be  the  terrible 
thing  it  was  in  the  beginning.  Sometimes 
this  is  doubtless  simply  because  the  tired 
brain  becomes  numbed,  and  the  nerves  re 
fuse  any  longer  to  bear  so  acute  a  current. 
But  this  in  itself  is  a  part,  and  a  large  part 
of  the  "tempering"  of  which  I  spoke.  The 
wind  bloweth  where  it  listeth,  and  it  still 
beats  about  the  devoted  head ;  but  the 
blast  is  silent,  or  as  on  the  harp  of  vEolus, 
the  shriek  of  agony  dies  away  in  a  plain 
tive  murmur. 

JUNE  10,  1894. 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      141 


XXVI. 

PHOLI.IS  made  a  little  exclamation  and 
stopped  me  as  I  was  about  to  step  upon  a 
mottled  brown  snake,  which  lay  in  a  slightly 
waving  line  across  the  middle  of  the  sandy 
wood-road.  The  compensating  curve  of  its 
body  was  really  very  graceful,  but  it  was 
difficult  to  conjure  up  any  emotion  of  pleas 
ure  as  we  looked  at  it.  It  seemed  at  first 
perfectly  still,  but  on  examining  it  narrowly 
the  motion  of  its  breathing  apparatus  could 
be  discovered.  I  have  an  invincible  repug 
nance  for  all  snakes,  noxious  and  innocuous 
alike,  which,  nevertheless,  I  try  to  conquer, 
and  I  touched  it  with  a  light  branch  which 
I  had  in  my  hand,  to  ascertain  whether  its 
sluggishness  were  only  assumed.  It  imme 
diately  flattened  and  hollowed  its  neck  for  a 
length  of  several  inches,  and  darted  out  its 
forked  tongue  in  very  vicious  fashion.  I 
looked  about  for  a  loose  stone  or  heavy  stick 
with  which  to  make  a  demonstration  in 
force,  but  meantime  the  reptile  softly  glided 
away  among  the  bushes  and  was  lost. 


142     FROM    A   NEW    ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

When  I  described  it  to  my  neighbour 
afterward,  he  said  that  it  was  probably  a  red 
adder,  one  of  the  few  poisonous  serpents  of 
these  parts.  It  was  not  very  red,  and  may 
not  have  been  an  adder,  or  a  nadder  as  it 
seems  we  should  properly  say,  but  it  was 
dangerous  enough  in  appearance  to  bu  any 
thing  of  the  kind  you  might  name.  1'ossibly 
it  was  a  copperhead,  that  unseemly  reptile 
which  strikes  unexpectedly  and  without 
warning,  and  which  a  generation  ago  lent 
its  name  to  those  rebel  sympathizers  in  the 
North  who  formed  our  weakest  spot  in  the 
war  days,  and  doubtless  to  many  others 
whom  it  was  cruel  injustice  to  class  with 
these.  For  when  the  nation  was  in  dire 
peril,  people  did  not  stop  to  make  nice  dis 
criminations,  and  sometimes  conduct  which 
was  simply  the  result  of  a  more  delicate 
conscientiousness  or  more  philosophical  ap 
prehension  upon  the  part  of  the  individual, 
was  attributed  to  a  much  less  worthy  cause. 

We  have  not  a  great  many  venomous 
reptiles,  and  I  believe  that  I  never  knew 
a  person  who  had  been  bitten  by  one.  And 
yet  I  have  a  constant  and  very  lively  dread 
of  them,  as  I  have  intimated,  and  I  believe 
that  this  feeling  is  largely  shared  by  others. 

The  snake  is  perhaps  more  graceful  in  its 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      143 

motions  than  any  other  living  thing,  —  even 
than  a  kitten,  —  and  yet  instead  of  enjoying 
these,  similar  motions  in  other  beings  ex 
cite  in  us  a  certain  repulsion,  at  least  poet 
ically,  because  of  this  association.  Is  not 
this  really,  in  part,  at  least,  a  "survival  in 
culture,"  — a  result  of  the  traditional  iden 
tification  of  the  serpent  with  the  supposed 
embodiment  of  the  principle  of  evil  ? 

We  are  magazines,  full  of  these  remnants 
of  the  past,  which  sometimes  wear  out,  but 
often  long  endure  to  colour  our  opinions 
and  our  reasoning,  and  control  our  action. 
Our  whole  social  structure  is  based  upon 
them,  and  the  e|fort  to  effect  a  sudden  rev 
olution  is  as  senseless  as  anything  of  which 
you  can  conceive.  Why  is  it  good  form  to 
sell  certain  things  by  the  ton,  but  ignoble 
to  sell  them  by  the  pound?  Why  is  ser 
vice  in  a  store  or  office  respectable,  and 
service  in  a  house  menial  ?  Why  is  a  cer 
tain  kind  of  service  paid  for  at  a  certain 
rate,  and  another  service,  just  as  simple, 
paid  for  at  four  times  that  rate  ?  Why,  a 
thousand  things  that  pass  before  us  every 
day  without  attracting  our  observation,  sim 
ply  because  we  have  always  been  accus 
tomed  to  them?  We  do  not  know  anything 
more,  than  that  under  the  interaction  of  the 


144     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

various  forces  which  have  controlled  human 
development,  —  an  infinite  variety  of  forces, 
—  they  have  worked  out  so.  We  may  not 
feel  wholly  satisfied  with  the  result.  We 
may  think  that  the  burdens  are  borne  un 
equally  by  different  classes  and  individuals. 
We  may  try  to  modify  the  existing  order. 
But  there  is  no  use  in  "  getting  mad  "  about 
it ;  that  will  not  help  matters.  The  pope's 
bull  against  the  comet  was  of  little  service. 
Canute  did  not  stop  the  incoming  of  the 
tide.  The  vis  inert  ice  is  a  mighty  power, 
and  you  may  as  well  take  it  into  account. 
Keep  your  head  level.  See  what  is  possible, 
and  do  that.  Do  not  allo\t  yourself  to  be 
come  a  scold,  and  on  the  other  hand  do  not 
permit  yourself  to  be  merely  as  a  cork  float 
ing  upon  the  top  of  the  wave.  Find  out  if 
you  can  in  which  way  the  permanent  chan 
nels  lie,  whither  the  current  must  ultimately 
run,  toward  what  point  the  eternal  trade 
winds  blow  ;  head  your  bark  thitherward, 
and  pull  with  all  the  might  that  is  in  you. 

But  I  am  afraid  that  we  did  not  think 
of  all  these  things  as  we  strolled  along  that 
afternoon.  It  was  warm,  but  fortunately 
a  mantle  of  cloud  covered  us  with  a  grate 
ful  shade,  and  when  we  entered  the  pine 
wood  we  were  flooded  with  the  spicy 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      145 

fragrance  from  the  trees.  The  purple 
cypripediums  long  eluded  us,  but  there 
they  were  at  last,  and  the  lupines,  and  by 
the  brookside  the  fleur-de-lis. 

And  here  on  the  edge  of  the  sandy  road 
is  the  inconspicuous  and  unattractive  sheep 
laurel ;  had  our  tramp  carried  us  farther 
away  among  the  hills,  we  should  have  found 
its  nobler  cousin  the  mountain  laurel,  now 
in  its  prime,  with  great  white  and  rosy 
masses  of  most  lovely  blossoms.  There 
upon  my  chiffonier  are  some  splendid  clus 
ters,  which  have  been  gradually  opening  in 
water  during  the  past  six  days.  Nothing 
else  upon  our  hillsides  is  quite  so  fine  as 
this  royal  shrub.  The  native  rhododendron 
is  massive  but  pale.  The  pink  azalea  is 
rich,  but  not  so  plentiful  or  pronounced. 
The  laurel  is  the  prince  of  the  June  woods, 
and  holds  a  royal  state.  I  think  that  no 
where  else  will  you  find  it  quite  equalling 
the  display  that  it  makes  around  Lake 
Mohonk,  but  it  bi'avely  holds  its  own  over 
a  vast  territory. 

Some  time  ago,  when  there  was  consider 
able  talk  about  a  national  flower,  this  was 
suggested  as  especially  suitable,  the  leaves, 
the  buds,  and  the  blossoms  alike  being  fine, 
and  peculiarly  adapted  to  effective  use  in 
L 


146     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

decorative  work.  Were  it  possible  to  select 
a  "national  flower"  out  of  hand,  perhaps 
no  more  happy  choice  could  be  made  than 
this.  But  what  an  absurd  idea  it  is  !  I 
fear  that  we  are  hardly  poetic  enough  as  a 
people  to  be  entitled  to  a  national  flower. 
If  we  were,  we  should  know  that  this  is  a 
matter  to  be  determined  by  feeling,  by  nat 
ural  growth,  by  common  consent,  not  by 
popular  vote.  In  the  state  of  New  York  a 
ballot  for  a  state  flower  was  taken  among 
the  children  of  the  public  schools.  The 
majority  voted  for  the  golden-rod.  But 
what  golden-rod  ?  I  think  there  are  said 
to  be  somewhere  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
seventy  species,  varying  in  all  sorts  of  ways, 
and,  graceful  and  beautiful  as  some  of  them 
are,  they  are  not  definite  and  distinctive 
in  flower,  but  rather  attractive  masses  or 
sprays. 

Let  us  have  a  national  flower,  if  you 
please,  and  all  other  good  things,  when  the 
time  comes  and  we  deserve  them,  but  do 
not  let  us  reach  them  by  way  of  the  factory 
system.  Perhaps  it  is  one  of  many  indica 
tions  that  we  are  outgrowing  our  first  crude 
national  stage  that  the  question  is  raised, 
but  we  can  afford  to  go  slowly  until  ideas 
of  this  kind  cease  to  be  novel.  Let  us  reso- 


FROM    A    NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      147 

lutely  refuse  to  bury  ourselves  in  the  clutter 
of  material  things,  and  I  fancy  that  we 
shall  find  our  perceptions  opening  to  a  flood 
of  impressions  which  cannot  fail  to  leave  a 
finer  stamp  upon  our  spirits  and  our  hearts. 

JUNE  12,  1894. 


148     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 


XXVII. 

NINETY-TWO  in  the  shade.  It  was  at 
seventy -eight  when  I  saw  it  last  at  night  ; 
this  morning  it  was  at  seventy -three.  The 
cocks  were  crowing  and  the  hens  cackling 
as  usual,  the  robins,  sparrows,  and  other 
birds  were  singing  their  accustomed  matin 
song ;  far  away  in  the  woods  the  air  was 
filled  with  a  murmur  which  did  not  fully 
reveal  itself,  but  may  have  been  the  warn 
ing  note  of  the  coming  swarm  of  "  seven 
teen-year  locusts,"  upon  the  eastern  border 
of  which  we  should  find  ourselves.  As 
the  day  waxed  older,  the  mercury  climbed 
higher,  and  the  parched  air  brought  to  us 
no  note  of  comfort.  The  church-going,  or 
pleasure-going  teams  (there  must  be  some 
thing  wrong  where  the  church-going  teams 
are  not  also  in  some  true  sense  pleasure- 
going  teams,  —  wrong  in  the  goers  or  in  the 
churches)  filled  the  air  with  a  dnst  so  fine 
from  the  dry  roadways,  that  much  of  it 
floated  high  into  the  slightly  moving  air. 

Some  of  the  little  ones  must  have  turn- 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      149 

bled  out  of  bed  the  wrong  end  foremost. 
So  we  used  to  put  it,  but  I  suppose  that  we 
shall  have  to  admit  that  it  was  only  the 
extra  fever  in  the  blood  that  caused  the 
fractious  ways  which  manifested  themselves 
where  all  is  generally  serene.  I  am  sure 
that  the  babies  —  God  bless  them  !  —  do  not 
know  how  the  endless  little  shrieks  and 
fretting  wear  upon  the  nerves,  themselves 
undergoing  a  sort  of  disintegration.  "  Tom 
won't  give  me  this,"  and  "Hal  won't  let 
me  have  that,  mamma,"  and  "I  don't 
want  to,"  and  all  the  negative  situations 
possible,  come  to  the  surface.  And  then  a 
little  clear  laugh  or  gurgle  of  delight  tells 
us  that  joy  has  not  quite  gone  out  of  the 
world. 

And  we  all  compare  notes  upon  the  mo 
mentous  subject.  "Isn't  it  hot!"  and 
"  It's  going  to  be  hotter  than  yesterday," 
and  "  Were  you  ever  in  such  a  hot  place 
before  in  your  life?"  and  "Oh,  if  we 
could  only  have  a  shower  !  "  and  "  Proba 
bilities  says  that  we  shall  have  one  this 
afternoon,"  and  "That's  the  worst  news 
I've  heard  yet ;  then  we're  sure  not  to  have 
one."  All  the  familiar  phrases  come  along, 
as  new  as  ever. 

The  hammocks  are  filled  and  swinging ; 


150     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

the  enormous  and  abominable  metropolitan 
Sunday  newspapers  lie  strewn  upon  the 
porch  and  on  the  grass,  filled  to  overflow 
ing  with  things  that  nobody  wants  to  know, 
or  ought  to  want  to  know,  with  here  and 
there  a  little  pure  true  thought,  a  breath  of 
natural  life,  a  lift  of  imagination,  a  glimpse 
into  the  ideal. 

The  scribe  had  some  writing  to  do,  and 
he  has  discovered  after  not  one  or  two, 
but  after  many  experiences,  that  as  the 
way  in  which  to  resume  specie  payments 
was  to  resume,  so  the  way  in  which  to  keep 
cool,  is  to  keep  cool.  Don't  fret.  "Fret 
not  thyself  because  of  evil-doers,"  the  good 
book  says,  and  they  are  golden  words, 
worthy  of  all  acceptance,  and  to  be  repeated 
daily  in  the  synagogue.  But  "fret  not 
thyself  at  all"  is  a  good  saying.  Quietly  ! 
Quietly  !  Don't  fret !  The  scribe  attended 
to  his  writing,  and  when  he  came  down 
among  the  others,  where  some  of  the  older 
folk  were  fuming  very  much  as  the  babies 
were,  they  said:  "  Why,  you  don't  look 
hot  at  all  ! "  But,  nevertheless,  he  was 
undeniably  warm. 

Arm-chairs  and  rocking-chairs  were  car 
ried  out  under  the  trees  and  pitched  here 
and  there,  wherever  a  tremor  in  the  leaves 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      15! 

promised  a  breath  of  life-giving  air.  Around 
the  house  the  grass  was  green  and  fresh, 
although  in  spots  the  ground  had  been  worn 
bare  by  passing  feet,  or  left  exposed  be 
cause  of  the  denser  shade  ;  beyond,  daisies 
in  myriads  mottled  the  fields.  Over  the 
porch  a  tulip  tree  carried  its  golden  and 
green  cups  high  into  the  upper  air.  For  a 
moment  the  branches  would  rustle  over 
us,  and  a  passing  breeze  would  fan  our 
cheeks,  then  die  away  into  utter  stillness. 

Scattered  groups  of  two  or  three  or  more 
appeared  under  the  different  trees,  lads  and 
lasses  here,  feeling  perhaps  the  glow  of 
warmth  within  equalling  that  without,  or 
perhaps  merely  skimming  along  the  surface 
in  the  irrepressible  effervescence  of  youth  ; 
there  pater  and  mater  familias  exchanging 
the  weekly  Sunday  greetings,  with  the  rest 
less  young  ones  playing  around  in  the  grass, 
or  running  out  into  the  dusty  road.  The 
scribe  found  an  arm-chair  shaded  by  a  dense 
maple  and  linden,  and  sank  into  it,  armed 
with  a  number  of  "  Good  Government," 
a  volume  of  Thackeray's  "  Philip,"  and  an 
other  of  Moliere.  As  in  duty  bound  he 
gave  his  attention  first  to  the  periodical, 
and  having  done  his  duty  in  that  direction, 
fell  back  upon  "Don  Garcie."  But  as  the 


152     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

light  breeze  gently  stirred  the  leaves,  the 
hot  sun  blinked  through  between  them,  and 
the  heavy  air  weighed  upon  the  eyelids. 
The  book  was  closed,  feet  were  thrust  out, 
and  the  head  rested  on  the  back  of  the 
chair,  while  in  the  debatable  land  between 
sleep  and  waking,  thought  floated  aimlessly 
among  things  present  and  absent,  fact  and 
fancy. 

Through  eyes  half-opened,  a  little  toddling 
figure  in  white  is  seen  approaching,  with 
blue  eyes  and  rosy  cheeks  and  pouting  lips. 
"  Won't  you  please  get  me  some  Marguer 
ites  ?  "  "  Of  course  I  will,  my  little  one," 
and  off  we  go  hand  in  hand,  among  the 
daisies.  Again  the  border  of  dreamland  is 
reached,  and  then  a  red  head  ending  in  a 
black  nose  is  thrust  into  my  hand,  and  the 
owner  thereof  manifests  a  tendency  to  be 
all  over  me  at  once.  "  Down,  Hover,  lie 
down ! "  and  with  a  push  the  affectionate 
brute,  for  whose  attentions  I  fear  his  mas 
ter  is  not  sufficiently  grateful,  is  induced  to 
stretch  himself  out  at  my  feet,  breathing 
heavily  in  the  nervous  fashion  which  the 
distemper  has  bequeathed  to  him. 

Passing  along  the  village  street  toward 
the  post-office  as  the  day  is  waning,  the 
reflection  from  the  dry  earth  makes  hot- 


FROM    A    NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      153 

ter  the  hot  air.  Across  the  green  of  the 
valley  the  distant  hills  and  mountains  rise 
through  the  dusty  haze,  tier  beyond  tier, 
clearly  marked,  like  giant  wave  lines  on  a 
mighty  sea,  disappearing  gradually  toward 
the  horizon.  Behind  the  cloister,  stretched 
upon  the  fresh  green  grass  under  broad 
spread  ing  trees  on  westward  sloping  ground, 
clad  in  white,  lie  maidens  exchanging 
maidenly  confidences.  The  term  is  draw 
ing  to  an  end.  The  day  of  parting  comes 
on  apace.  For  many,  the  school  days  are 
ending,  and  closely  knit  friendships  which 
years  have  strengthened  must  now  be  sub 
jected  to  the  test  of  separation,  of  new  as 
sociations,  of  widening  occupations,  duties, 
pleasures.  The  "  curtain  raiser  "  has  been 
played  out ;  the  curtain  is  about  to  fall ; 
then  comes  the  prompter's  bell,  and  it  is 
rung  up  again  for  the  drama:  what  shall 
this  be  ?  Ah  !  that  for  all  there  could  be 
something  more  of  the  rural  simplicity,  the 
grateful  repose  of  this  favoured  spot,  than 
our  great  cities  with  their  feverish  life 
afford  for  many.  May  the  heart  burnings 
be  few,  and  while  the  recollections  remain 
always  tender,  may  there  not  be  intense 
and  bitter  longing  for  that  which  cannot 
return,  for  "the  days  that  are  no  more." 


154     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

Ah  !  the  heart  sickness  that  must  sometimes 
come  :  — 

I  have  had  playmates,  I  have  had  compan 
ions 

lu  my  days  of  childhood,  iii  my  joyful  school 
days; 

All,  all  are  gone,  the  old  familiar  faces. 

—  Some  they  have  died,  and  some  they  have 
left  me, 

And  some  are  taken  from  me;  all  are  de 
parted; 

All,  all  are  gone,  the  old  familiar  faces. 

Bon  voyage,  Fhillis  and  Hiollis,  one 
going  to  meet  the  rising,  one  following  the 
setting  sun.  May  the  wild  Atlantic  quiet 
her  grim  waves  and  bear  the  pilgrim  safely 
to  the  farther  shore  !  It  is  not  for  all  of  us 
to  tread  historic  paths  ;  to  stand  where  the 
brave  deeds  have  been  done  which  history 
records,  whatever  brave  deeds  we  may  be 
called  upon  to  perform  in  the  privacy  of 
our  own  lives ;  not  for  us  all  to  look  upon 
the  monuments  which  attest  past  glory,  to 
see  the  noble  remnants  of  olden  art,  the 
quaint  peculiarities  of  varying  civilizations, 
the  finished  culture  of  a  riper  world.  May 
the  old  world  kindly  receive  the  child  of  the 
new,  and  may  all  the  winds  blow  fair, 
and  safely  guide  the  wanderer  home  again  ! 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      155 

But  let  her  beware  of  the  lotos :  — 

—  evermore 

Most  weary  seem'd  the  sea,  weary  the  oar, 
Weary  the  wandering  fields  of  barren  foam. 
Then  some  one  said,  "  We  will  return  no 

more ;  " 

And  all  at  once  they  sang,  "  Our  island  home 
Is  far  beyond  the  wave ;  we  will  no  longer 

roam/' 

There  is  sweet  music  here  that  softer  falls 
Than  petals  from  blown  roses  on  the  grass, 
Or  night  dews  on  still  waters  between  walls 
Of  shadowy  granite,  in  a  gleaming  pass; 
Music  than  gentlier  on  the  spirit  lies, 
Than  tir'd  eyelids  upon  tir'd  eyes: 
Music  that  brings  sweet  sleep  down  from  the 
blissful  skies. 

And  in  that  newer  world  across  the 
prairies,  which  used  to  be  the  far  West, 
and  has  grown  to  be  almost  a  part  of  the 
East,  whither  the  sun  travels  to  shake  off 
upon  the  broad  fields  the  drip  of  the  sea, 
may  the  welcome  be  a  kindly  one  also,  but 
not  so  kindly  as  to  cause  Underledge  to 
fade  away  in  the  misty  distance.  There 
be  many  paths  among  these  green  hills 
yet  untrod,  many  mysteries  yet  to  be  re 
vealed. 

JUNE  17,  1894. 


156     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 


XXVIII. 

DURING  the  past  week  the  frequent  clink 
of  the  hammer  has  been  heard  upon  the 
hill,  and  the  walls  have  grown  apace,  heavy 
walls,  with  mighty  stones  in  them,  which 
make  the  inclosed  space  of  the  cottage 
look  curiously  small.  But  no  hammer 
stroke  has  been  heard  on  the  face  of  the 
stones,  and  as  they  rise  above  the  surface 
of  the  ground,  the  lichens  and  mosses  give 
them  an  appearance  of  ancientness  which 
is  good  to  see.  The  masons  have  become 
interested  in  carrying  out  the  enterprise  as 
it  was  planned,  and  bid  fair  to  produce  a 
work  with  which  they  may  quite  properly 
be  content. 

The  well  has  proved  refractory,  and  it 
may  yet  need  to  be  carried  further  into  the 
bowels  of  the  earth.  But  the  fruit  trees 
and  most  of  the  other  plantings  have  taken 
kindly  to  their  new  home,  and  notwith 
standing  this  second  dry  spell,  with  its 
intense  heat,  I  must  on  the  whole  be  sat 
isfied  with  the  appearance  of  the  growing 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      157 

things.  To-morrow  or  the  next  day,  the 
favoured  feathered  bipeds,  Leghorns  and 
Plymouth  Rocks,  and  Light  Brahnias 
and  Minorcas,  should  arrive  from  the  city 
and  take  possession  of  the  palatial  quarters 
prepared  for  them,  and  if  they  do  not  in 
continently  take  to  laying  at  once,  and  lay 
with  energy,  they  will  be  most  ungrateful 
creatures.  I  am  sure  that  any  hen  with 
the  least  aesthetic  taste  should  feel  proud 
to  be  so  raised  above  the  world,  and  pro 
vided  with  all  the  comforts  of  a  luxurious 
home. 

JUNE  17,  1894. 


158     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 


XXIX. 

WE  stand  with  bowed  heads  as  the  angel 
with  the  inverted  torch  passes  swiftly  by 
us.  "  The  Lord  gave,  and  the  Lord  hath 
taken  away  ;  blessed  be  the  name  of  the 
Lord." 

Let  sorrow  have  her  way.  "The  heart 
knoweth  his  own  bitterness  ;  and  a  stranger 
doth  not  intermeddle  with  his  joy,"  neither 
with  his  sorrow.  But  it  is  permitted  to 
others  to  shoulder  in  part  the  burdens  of 
those  that  suffer  most,  and  to  go  down  into 
the  dark  valley  with  them.  Do  not  try  to 
smother  the  sorrow  ;  it  is  the  one  right  of 
the  human  being  which  none  can  question. 
We  stand  upon  the  brink  and  look  out  upon 
the  vast  unknown,  and  to  our  call  no 
answer  comes  from  the  silence.  Let  us 
indulge  the  heartache,  and  commune  with 
our  own.  The  day  was  so  fair ;  the  bark 
kept  on  an  even  keel :  — 

Where  lies  the  land  to  which  the  ship  would 

go? 
Far,  far  ahead,  is  all  her  seamen  know. 


FROM    A    NEW    ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      159 

We  look  again,  and  not  a  speck  floats 
upon  the  surface  of  the  waters.  The  call 
has  gone  forth,  "and  the  spirit  shall  return 
unto  God  who  gave  it."  We  cannot  quite 
realize  it  at  first ;  we  cannot  understand  it 
at  all :  wait  a  little  ;  by  and  by  we  shall 
stand  under  it.  The  sad  days  of  the  past 
will  grow  dim  in  our  memory  ;  the  dear, 
rich,  happy  days  will  come  back  once  more 
to  stay  with  us  forever. 

And  as  the  years  go  by,  and  we  gradu 
ally  learn  that  there  is  only  one  thing  for 
us  to  do,  —  to  shower  richer  blessings  around 
us,  our  own  that  would  have  been  for 
him,  and  his,  for  whom  we  have  become 
trustees,  and  whose  trust  we  must  fulfil  to 
others,  —  then  is  the  load  adjusted,  and  we 
begin  to  understand. 

And  ever  before  us  go  the  spirits  that 
have  left  us,  those 

—  we  have  loved  long  since,  and  lost  awhile ; 

and  when  the  long  day  wanes,  and  we  feel 
aweary,  the  sounds  of  the  present  may  at 
tract  us  less,  and  in  the  future  we  may  seem 
to  see  something  of  the  past,  and  coupled 
with  it  that  which  we  so  much  have  longed 
for,  —  peace. 

JUNE  19,  1894. 


l6o     FROM    A    NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 


As  I  stand  upon  the  hillside  and  look 
across  the  green  valley,  where,  notwith 
standing  another  drought,  the  crops  are  mak 
ing  good  headway  ;  when  I  remember  that 
whereas  once  great  famines  were  a  common 
occurrence,  now,  thanks  in  good  part  to  the 
practice  of  forestalling,  there  is  ever  food 
enough  for  all  those  that  live  upon  the  earth, 
though  here  and  there  there  are  some  who 
fail  to  obtain  it ;  that,  thanks  to  wonderful 
labour-saving  appliances,  most  articles  of 
necessity  have  been  greatly  reduced  in  cost, 
and  a  vast  number  of  things  which  were 
once  luxuries  unattainable  by  any,  are  now 
easily  accessible  by  all  but  the  very  poor 
est ;  that  spite  of  "bad  business"  and 
"  hard  times  "  there  is  enough  and  to  spare 
for  all,  while  there  are  those  always  ready 
to  come  to  the  assistance  of  the  few  whom 
temporary  conditions  have  thrown  out  of 
their  ordinary  relation  to  the  industries  of 
the  community,  —  when  I  remember  these 
things,  and  that  we  are  heirs  of  all  the  ages, 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      l6l 

with  the  record  of  human  experience  lying 
as  an  open  page  before  us,  and  yet  see  the 
wave  of  barbarism  which  is  sweeping  over 
the  earth,  I  feel  weak. 

The  immediate  prompting  to  this  reflec 
tion  is  the  dastardly  assassination  of  Car- 
not,  which  took  place  last  night.  In  all 
ages  there  have  been  assassinations  of 
rulers,  and  we  have  had  previous  instances 
of  the  untimely  taking  off  of  those  upon 
whom  in  some  measure  depended  the  im 
mediate  progress  of  nations  or  of  the  race. 
But  here  we  have  one  of  a  constantly  pro 
gressive  series  of  incidents  resulting  from 
deliberately  organized  barbarism.  Society 
in  many  countries  is  undermined  in  the 
interest  merely  of  destruction.  This  is 
one,  but  perhaps  not  the  most  dangerous 
aspect  of  the  situation.  Ideas  and  princi 
ples,  as  well  as  society  and  customs,  are 
undermined,  and  there  is  scarcely  a  truth 
in  business  or  social  relations  which  history 
and  experience  have  taught,  which  is  not 
boldly  repudiated  and  defied. 

What  is  the  cause  of  this,  and  what  are 
we  to  expect  ?  It  is  difficult,  I  am  not  sure 
that  it  is  not  impossible,  to  say.  It  all 
seems  so  unnecessary,  and  yet  we  are  ap 
parently  so  impotent  to  prevent  or  cure  it. 
M 


162     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

That  the  facts  which  I  stated  in  opening 
are  facts  cannot  be  truthfully  denied.  The 
world  is  better  off  in  material  things  than 
it  ever  was  before.  It  has  more  oppor 
tunity  for  intellectual  improvement  than 
it  ever  had  before.  There  is  more  chance 
for  individual  progress  than  there  ever  was 
before.  Material  development  is  more 
rapid  than  it  ever  was  before.  And  yet 
all  this  seems  to  be  accompanied  by  a  con 
dition  of  mental  and  moral  collapse  on  the 
part  of  a  considerable  percentage  of  the 
human  race. 

If  this  condition  only  appeared  in  those 
who  a  hundred  years  ago  would  naturally 
have  been  classed  as  social  nonentities,  but 
who  have  now  been  brought  forward  as 
factors  in  nation  and  society,  in  an  imper 
fect  state  of  development,  the  problem 
would  be  an  easier  one.  Unfortunately 
this  does  not  seem  to  be  the  case.  Exam 
ples  appear  in  all  ranks  and  among  all 
classes,  even  the  most  favoured.  Society's 
enemies  are  those  of  its  own  household,  as 
well  as  those  who  have  been  forgotten. 
There  seems  to  be  a  physical,  mental,  or 
moral  fever  running  through  the  nations. 
May  it  prove  but  a  transient  epidemic,  to  be 
succeeded  by  a  wholesome  convalescence. 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      163 

I  cannot  help  thinking  that  it  is  not  im 
probable  that  the  disease  is  in  some  good 
measure  the  result  of  the  immensely  rapid 
development  of  discovery,  invention,  and 
manufacture,  of  the  stupendous  changes  of 
the  past  century.  These  have  been  too 
much  for  us.  Animal  and  vegetable  organ 
isms  need  time  to  fit  them  to  new  relations  ; 
we  are  out  of  key  with  our  surroundings  ; 
we  are  in  a  state  of  ferment  and  unstable 
equilibrium,  of  moral  and  mental  mix. 

We  need  to  get  away  a  little  distance 
Irom  the  crowd,  to  bare  our  foreheads  to 
the  breeze  and  cool  our  throbbing  temples. 
Here  we  may  lie  among  the  daisies,  and  rest 
ourselves  until  we  can  draw  our  breath  in 
steadiness  and  quite  unconsciously.  At 
first  the  song  of  the  lark  or  the  bobolink 
may  hardly  impress  our  ear.  But  after  a 
while  we  see  the  flashing  of  a  wing,  and 
mayhap  begin  to  realize  a  refreshing  fra 
grance  in  the  air.  And  probably  it  may 
occur  to  us  that  there  are  such  things  as 
false  standards,  and  ignoble  contests,  and 
wasted  lives.  What  does  the  man  or 
woman  need,  after  all  ?  Food  and  clothing 
and  shelter,  a  lift  to  the  imagination,  and 
good  companionship,  —  and  how  little  they 
cost !  A  pest  upon  your  gross  ambitions  ! 


164     FROM    A    NEW    ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

Let  us  have  again  plain  living  and  high 
thinking  :  the  high  thinking,  at  all  events  ; 
for  the  plain  living,  fecund  nature  will 
hardly  permit  us  that,  unless  we  are  de 
termined  to  have  it  whether  or  no. 

There  is  enough  for  us  all  and  to  spare, 
if  we  want  only  the  very  best  things  ;  and 
we  know  at  least  this  much  of  the  secret 
of  the  conversion  of  the  world,  —  that  each 
of  us  is  the  master  of  one  life  which  can  be 
turned  to  a  good  account. 

I  have  been  interested  in  the  discussion 
caused  by  Mr.  Godkin's  suggestion  that  edu 
cated  men  distrust  or  regret  universal  suf 
frage.  My  observation  leads  me  to  believe 
that  we  are  all,  or  most  of  us,  more  and 
more  inclined  to  think  forms  of  govern 
ment  of  comparatively  small  account.  All 
roads  lead  to  Rome.  Pretty  nearly  any 
form  of  government  will  work  well  in  good 
hands  ;  and  without  good  citizens  the  best 
form  which  can  be  devised  is  valueless. 
We  have  said  many  proud  things  of  our 
republicanism,  and  New  York  has  trusted 
its  fortunes  to  "the  people."  And  what 
are  we  having  revealed  to  us  to-day  ?  A 
closely  knit  combination  of  the  sworn  offi 
cial  conservators  of  the  peace  with  the 
dregs  of  society,  to  prey  upon  and  plun- 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      165 

der  the  law-abiding  members  of  the  com 
munity. 

Pah  !  Let  us,  at  least  for  a  while,  get 
out  where  we  can  fill  our  lungs  with  God's 
own  fresh  air.  And  then  let  us  put  on  the 
helmet  and  cuirass  which  may  be  appro 
priate,  and  with  new  strength  in  our  arm, 
grasp  the  good  sword  Excalibur,  or  $lo* 
ttjumi,  if  you  please,  and  in  knightly 
fashion  throw  ourselves  into  the  thick  of 
the  fray,  in  defence  of  truth,  justice,  and 
purity. 

JUNE  25,  1894. 


1 66     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 


XXXI. 

As  I  cross  the  meadow  and  climb  the 
hill  in  the  morning  to  watch  the  growing 
walls,  the  tantalizing  fog  veiling  and  soft 
ening  the  heights  but  holding  out  little 
promise  of  rain,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robert  of 
Lincoln  give  me  their  daily  greeting.  I 
fear  that  it  is  not  all  a  manifestation  of 
affection,  but  rather  of  alarm  and  solici 
tude  for  the  brood  hidden  somewhere  near 
by,  among  the  tall  grass.  Mrs.  Lincoln 
speaks  prose  in  a  pleasant  chirping  tone, 
but  Robert  has  a  very  musical  voice,  and  is 
lavish  in  its  use.  According  to  Wilson,  he 
should  now  be  changing  his  colour,  and 
growing  like  unto  his  mate,  but  my  friend 
is  brilliant,  a  dSep  black  on  his  breast  and 
under  side,  and  bright  creamy  yellow  and 
white  upon  much  of  the  upper  part  of  his 
body  and  wings,  much  richer  than  my 
copy  of  Wilson  represents  him  ;  while 
madam,  on  the  contrary,  is  considerably 
duller  than  as  represented,  having  a  gen 
eral  brownish  tone,  tinged  with  yellow. 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      167 

They  circle  around  me,  fluttering  and  soar 
ing,  and  alight  here  and  there  upon  the 
stalks  of  timothy,  which  bend  but  do  not 
break  under  their  weight,  though  from  the 
size  of  the  birds  one  would  expect  them  to 
be  much  too  heavy  for  the  slender  grass. 

When  I  reach  the  upper  part  of  the 
field  I  find  the  harvesters  at  work,  the 
daisies,  and  such  nutritious  growth  as  they 
have  permitted  among  them,  going  down 
crisply  before  the  sharp  scythes.  I  sup 
pose  that  in  time  we  may  learn  to  see  a 
like  poetry  in  the  action  of  the  mowing 
machine  with  the  driver  riding  atop ;  but 
as  yet  there  is  something  which  appeals  to 
me  much  more  strongly  in  the  free  swing 
and  graceful  swaying  motion  of  the  men 
as  they  follow  one  another  step  by  step 
across  the  field,  the  grass  falling  in  swaths 
at  their  side  ;  while  the  musical  ringing  of 
the  scythe  stones  upon  the  steel  at  inter 
vals,  I  fear,  is  quite  inimitable,  and  not  to 
be  compensated  for  by  any  substituted 
sound. 

My  poultry  yard  has  received  its  con 
signment  of  fowls.  They  have  been  domes 
ticated  here  for  less  than  a  week,  and  were 
at  first  disposed  to  be  very  timid  and  flighty. 
But  already  they  have  become  accustomed 


1 68     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

to  Nicholas  John  and  myself,  and  this  morn 
ing  the  handsome  Minorca  rooster  came 
and  took  grain  from  my  hand,  with  many 
encouraging  expressions  to  the  members  of 
his  harem.  His  interest  in  their  welfare, 
however,  did  not  prevent  him  from  devour 
ing  what  was  before  him  as  rapidly  as  he 
could,  and  disposing  of  it  all,  just  before 
the  ladies  became  ready  to  show  the  same 
confidence  in  my  good  intentions. 

My  Brown  Leghorn  cock  appears  very 
much  discouraged.  Since  Sunday  morning 
he  has  been  dull  and  moping,  supporting 
himself  about  as  much  upon  his  head  as 
his  heels  ;  and  wild  as  he  was  before,  he  is 
not  now  disposed  to  take  more  than  a  step 
or  two  when  I  put  my  hands  upon  him, 
and  only  eats  and  drinks  when  assisted. 
I  fear  that  his  belligerent  propensities  have 
led  him  to  try  conclusions  with  the  huge 
Plymouth  Hock  rooster  in  the  next  yard, 
and  that  he  has  come  to  grief  in  the  meshes 
of  the  woven  wire  fence  between  them. 

I  suppose  that  you  do  not  realize  that  I 
am  merely  beating  about  the  bush.  To 
day  the  term  ends,  and  the  cloisters  are 
closed.  The  dear  old  lumbering  stage 
coach  with  its  various  tenders  have  made 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      1 69 

their  several  trips,  laden  inside  and  out 
with  hopes  and  fears,  sorrows  and  joyful 
anticipations,  as  well  as  with  human  bodies. 
Hands  and  kerchiefs  have  been  waved,  and 
kisses  thrown,  and  the  teary  eyes  tried 
bravely  to  seem  as  though  there  were  no 
showers  within  hail.  But  ah  !  there  is  no 
drought  that  long  affects  the  fount  which  so 
readily  flows  at  the  tap  of  the  affections. 

Go  up,  thou  bald-head !  Has  life  so 
worn  with  thee  that  all  thy  papillae  have 
become  seared  and  callous,  no  longer  re 
sponding  to  the  touch  of  thy  fellows  ? 
Has  all  sentiment  come  to  seem  mere  sen 
timentality,  and  naught  real  and  true  ex 
cept  bonds  and  stocks,  and  quotations  in 
the  market,  line  carriages  and  fast  horses, 
dollars  and  cents  ?  If  so,  I  pity  thee. 
Good  by,  bathos  and  spectacle, — a  good 
riddance  to  you.  Do  not  try  to  pump  feel 
ing  from  wells  drilled  in  the  social  hard- 
pan.  .But  if  there  be  anything  truer, 
richer,  more  lasting,  and  more  worthy  than 
the  strong  attachments  of  human  beings,  I 
know  not  what  it  is.  If  we  may  not  testify 
to  the  tie  which  binds  heart  to  heart,  until 
the  eyelids  are  closed,  and  the  cool  pit  is 
opened,  and  the  dull  clods  fall  upon  the 
straw,  then  let  usr  like  the  stricken  deer, 


170     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

quietly  creep  away,  and  lie  down  for  the  last 
time  in  the  solitude  of  the  remote  forest,  for 
life  has  no  more  for  us  within  its  gift. 

My  brothers  in  arms,  have  we  not  sum- 
mert'd  and  wintered  together,  have  we  not 
had  a  common  playtime,  and  have  we  not 
fought  side  by  side  in  social  and  political 
frays,  as  with  beasts  at  Ephesus  ?  Have  we 
not  tested  each  other's  temper,  and  found 
what  manner  of  men  we  are  ?  Do  we  not 
know  that  so  long  as  life  holds  out  we  shall 
be  ready  to  rally  at  the  call,  and  present  a 
bold  front  to  the  ills  that  threaten  any  one 
of  us,  or  the  commonweal  ?  Then  go  to ! 
Let  us  join  hands,  and  look  into  each  other's 
eyes,  and  frankly  confess  that  we  are  kin 
dred  spirits,  and  in  our  feeling  a  little  more 
than  kin  and  not  less  than  kind. 

And  now  the  footfall  is  silent  on  the 
doorstep.  Away  in  the  distance,  the  rum 
bling  coach  takes  its  course  over  the  val 
ley,  and  the  dust  has  fallen  upon  the  track 
which  it  made.  Close  the  windows  and 
draw  the  curtains,  and  permit  the  spiders 
to  weave  their  webs  across  the  sashes. 

Let  us  go  up  upon  the  mountain,  and 
look  for  the  locusts. 

JUNE  26,  1SSM. 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 


XXXII. 

I  THINK  that  it  is  nearly  four  weeks  since 
we  have  had  a  shower  sufficiently  heavy 
to  soak  through  the  dust  on  the  roads,  and 
the  ground  is  parched  as  though  it  had  been 
baked  in  an  oven.  And  yet  the  forests  and 
the  meadows  remain  green,  and  even  where 
the  hay  has  been  harvested,  the  grass  does 
not  seem  burned  to  a  crisp.  Day  after  day 
we  watch  the  storm-clouds  forming  around 
us  ;  we  hear  the  muttering  of  distant  thun 
der,  and,  as  night  approaches,  see  the  elec 
tric  signals  flash  from  cloud  to  cloud  ;  it  is 
thunder  to  right  of  us,  thunder  to  left  of  us, 
thunder  in  front  of  us  ;  occasionally  a  cool 
breeze  from  another  valley  conies  to  in 
form  us  of  the  grateful  showers  that  have 
fallen  there.  The  ladies  tell  me  that  the 
air  is  laden  with  moisture,  and  that  conse 
quently  dainty  dresses,  quietly  hanging  in 
the  closet,  contract  their  skirts  by  inches, 
as  if  to  escape  contact  with  a  wet  earth  ; 
nevertheless,  the  would-be  welcome  rain 
tarries  yet  in  the  offing. 


172     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

I  have  a  new  Brown  Leghorn  rooster, 
master  of  the  clan  vice  the  first  incumbent, 
incapacitated,  and  since  transferred  to  an 
other  sphere.  And  he  is  a  true  squire  of 
dames,  brilliant  in  his  plumage,  imposing 
in  his  carriage,  and  withal  courtly  and 
generous  in  his  manners.  In  the  latter 
respect,  I  confess  that  he  greatly  surprised 
me,  after  my  experience  with  his  cousin 
from  Minorca.  He  quickly  ventured  to 
take  grain  from  my  hand,  or  from  the 
ground  close  beside  me,  but  instead  of  im 
mediately  swallowing  it,  would  hold  it  in 
his  beak,  clucking  an  encouraging  invita 
tion  to  the  ladies  of  his  family,  and,  as  if 
realizing  that  their  enterprise  might  not 
be  sufficient  to  bring  them  quite  so  close 
to  the  great  ogre,  man,  would  move  off 
two  or  three  steps,  and  lay  the  grain  upon 
the  ground,  continuing  his  cheering  calls. 
Often  he  has  to  pick  up  and  lay  down  the 
same  grain  two  or  three  times,  before  he 
finds  a  customer  for  it,  but  at  length  it  will 
be  called  for,  and  he  will  look  on  most 
benignly  while  it  is  being  disposed  of. 
Sometimes  it  is  necessary  for  him  to  go 
through  the  process  of  laying  down  the 
grain,  and  scratching  about  it,  before  his 
coy  consorts  can  be  encouraged  to  approach. 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      173 

Occasionally  he  swallows  a  grain,  just  to 
keep  up  his  strength  for  the  work  in  hand  ; 
but  I  do  not  think  that  he  takes  more  than 
one  out  of  a  dozen,  which  is  much  less  than 
his  share. 

But  he  has  the  defects  of  his  virtues,  and 
is  a  good  deal  of  a  swash-buckler.  He  is 
of  the  time  of  Louis  XIII.  and  XIV.,  and 
reminds  me  now  of  the  dainty  Aramis,  and 
now  of  Athos,  Porthos,  and  the  rough 
and  ready  D'Artagnan.  lie  will  vary  his 
amusements  by  periodically  facing  his 
neighbour,  the  Plymouth  Rock  rooster  in 
the  adjoining  yard,  like  his  lamented  prede 
cessor  ;  and  this  morning  he  managed  to  get 
over  the  high  fence,  and  to  give  the  latter 
such  a  drubbing  that  he  was  fain  to  retire 
into  the  privacy  of  his  own  apartments, 
with  both  eyes  closed,  and  generally  such 
a  wreck  as  was  pitiful  to  behold.  I  hope 
that  this  interview  has  so  far  settled  their 
differences  that  hereafter  peace  may  reign 
upon  the  confines  of  their  dominions. 

Strangely  enough,  the  locusts  have  not 
invaded  the  precincts  of  the  village.  Two 
or  three  days  ago,  I  saw  one  fluttering 
through  my  dining-room  that  is  to  be,  but 
it  was  the  only  one  that  I  have  seen  this 
side  of  the  hills.  In  the  hottest  part  of 


174     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

the  day  we  still  hear  the  distant  buzzing  of 
their  calls  ;  but  it  is  not  near  so  loud  as  it 
was  ten  days  ago,  and  it  does  not  attract 
our  attention  in  the  early  morning  as  it  did 
then.  Wings  are  found  here  and  there 
upon  the  street,  the  related  bodies  having, 
I  imagine,  been  disposed  of  by  the  birds. 

A  week  ago,  I  went  up  on  the  hills  to 
make  a  nearer  acquaintance  with  the  com 
pany.  When  fairly  among  them,  the  air 
rang  with  their  note,  as  if  with  the  whir 
ring  of  a  considerable  collection  of  light 
machinery  and  gearing,  with  now  and  then 
a  curious  rising  inflection.  It  is  quite 
unlike  the  hot,  dry  rattle  of  our  ordinary 
locusts.  I  saw  many  of  the  insects  them 
selves,  but  they  were  far  from  being  as 
numerous  as  I  remember  them  in  the 
Pennsylvania  brood  of  a  certain  year  that 
shall  be  nameless.  May  I  not  have  my 
reticences  ?  If  there  was  a  pre-diluvian 
period  which  I  can  look  back  upon,  let  us 
assume  it  to  have  been  vaguely  a  Saturnian 
era,  a  Golden  age,  without  beginning  and 
without  end,  the  glamour  of  which  still 
lingers  upon  the  hills  of  to-day. 

On  this  recent  excursion,  I  did  not  see 
any  of  the  insects  emerging  from  their 
shells,  as  I  frequently  did  in  those  early 


FROM   A    NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      175 

days  ;  but  I  saw  many  of  these  shells,  some 
times  two  or  three  of  them  left  upon  a 
single  leaf,  having  the  opening  in  the  back 
through  which  the  insect  escaped.  And 
many  of  the  locusts  were  busily  at  work 
boring  the  holes  in  which  to  deposit  their 
eggs.  This  they  do  most  industriously, 
and  it  is  far  from  being  an  easy  task.  I 
watched  one  for  perhaps  nearly  ten  min 
utes,  effecting  a  single  perforation ;  and 
sometimes  these  appear  at  intervals  of  a 
half  inch  or  so,  for  a  distance  of  as  much 
as  a  foot,  or  a  foot  and  a  half,  along  a 
single  branch,  apparently,  though  I  cannot 
say  certainly,  made  by  a  single  female. 

The  ovipositor  is  a  horny,  sting-like  ap 
pendage  attached  near  the  middle  of  the 
lower  side  of  the  body.  It  is  about  a  third  of 
an  inch  long  and  slightly  curved  backward, 
and  the  perforation  is  effected  by  gripping 
the  branch  or  twig  tightly  with  the  feet,  and 
contracting  the  legs  so  as  to  force  the  in 
strument  diagonally  through  the  bark  into 
the  wood.  The  muscular  exertion  required 
must  be  very  great,  and  the  ovipositor  is 
nearly  withdrawn  and  again  thrust  into 
the  wood  over  and  over  before  the  work  is 
completed. 

I  suppose  that  it  is  well  known  that  little 


176     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

or  no  serious  damage  is  done  by  the  insects 
through  eating  in  this  stage  of  existence. 
The  devastation  produced  in  the  woods  and 
among  the  scattered  trees  is  caused  by  the 
destruction  of  innumerable  twigs  and  small 
branches  by  the  boring  for  the  deposit  of 
eggs,  this  resulting  shortly  in  the  death  of 
these  twigs.  I  think  it  is  not  improbable 
that  some  active  poison  is  inserted  at  the 
time  the  egg  is  laid.  At  all  events,  in  most 
cases  the  twig  quickly  dies  and  becomes 
brittle,  and  is  broken  off  by  the  wind,  and 
then  falling  to  the  ground,  the  new  genera 
tion  is  permitted,  as  soon  as  released  from 
the  egg,  to  sink  below  the  surface  and  begin 
the  period  of  seventeen  years  of  subterra 
nean  existence,  from  which  these  which  I 
have  been  observing  have  just  emerged. 

JULY  2,  1894. 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      177 


XXXIII. 

How  beautiful  is  the  rain  ! 

After  the  dust  and  heat, 

In  the  hroad  and  fiery  street, 

In  the  narrow  lane, 

How  beautiful  is  the  rain  ! 

THE  leaden  clouds  gather  around  us  and 
shut  off  the  hot  rays  of  the  sun,  and  the 
thunder  comes  nearer  than  we  have  had  it 
in  many  weeks.  But  we  have  become  in 
credulous,  and  I  hear  the  patter  of  the  fall 
ing  drops  upon  the  leaves  over  my  head 
before  I  realize  that  there  is  any  need  for 
me  to  gather  up  my  books  and  papers,  and 
seek  shelter  under  the  neighbouring  roof. 
For  a  moment  the  drops  fall  merrily,  and 
bury  themselves  in  the  finely  powdered  dust 
upon  the  drive  outside  the  window ;  but 
before  the  surface  has  been  moistened  all 
over,  the  supply  is  cut  off,  a  break  appears 
in  the  curtain  which  covers  the  heavens, 
and  the  sun  gleams  through  again  as  though 
like  the  clown  at  the  circus,  to  say,  "  Here 
we  are  again  !  " 


178     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

But  never  mind  ;  there  are  three  or  four 
little  puddles  upon  the  floor  of  the  porch, 
large  enough  to  reflect  the  branches  waving 
in  the  freshened  breeze,  a  grumble  is  heard 
now  from  one  quarter  and  now  from  another 
where  heavy  clouds  cover  most  of  the  sky, 
and  "  we  may  be  happy  yet." 

Yesterday,  when  I  parted  from  Blondin 
after  our  cosy  lunch  in  one  of  those  quiet 
little  foreign  places  which  you  will  find  here 
and  there  in  old  dwelling-houses  upon  the 
cross  streets  in  the  metropolis,  and  took  my 
way  to  spend  an  hour  at  the  club  before 
train  time,  the  sunshine  came  almost  as  hot 
from  the  blistering  pavement  of  the  dusty 
and  noisy  street  as  from  the  heavens  above. 
But  on  an  inner  balcony  at  the  club-house, 
which  I  had  quite  to  myself  at  this  hour, 
it  was  gratefully  cool  and  quiet.  My  hour 
passed  all  too  quickly,  and  I  soon  found 
myself  amid  the  throng  at  the  neighbouring 
station.  The  bull  reigns  in  the  zodiac,  and 
the  air  is  heavy  and  the  pulse  high  as  the 
holiday  crowds,  flushed  and  flurried,  gather 
in  the  long  trams  to  flee  away  from  the 
city  for  a  breath  of  fresh  country  air.  It 
is  not  until  the  Bronx  comes  in  sight,  with 
the  appropriate  accent  of  a  blanchisscuse 
upon  the  bank,  with  clean  white  garments 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      179 

scattered  upon  the  grass  around  her,  that 
the  weight  lifts  a  little,  and  we  realize  once 
more  that  life  is  worth  living.  Even  here 
much  is  sordid  and  mean,  and  it  is  but  a 
touch  now  and  then  which  lets  us  out  into 
the  infinite.  "Hop"  Smith,  the  versatile, 
tells  me  that  "  A  Day  at  Laguerre's"  was 
drawn  with  absolute  truth,  and  I  am  sure 
that  he  believes  it.  But  then  he  is  of  the 
fortunate  ones  who  evolve  their  own  facts 
from  the  nature  of  their  constitution,  and 
carry  with  them  an  atmosphere  which 
causes  the  light  to  touch  with  a  tender  glow 
the  most  common  things.  And  who  would 
not  rather  see  Mambrino's  helmet  than  a 
barber's  basin,  and  find  an  inspiration  to 
knightly  deeds  in  the  Dulcinea  del  Toboso  ? 
If  I  may  not  think  my  geese  all  swans,  let 
me  never  keep  a  flock  to  squawk  at  my 
coming. 

But  the  French  at  Laguerre's  are  retiring 
before  Guiseppe  and  Pietro  and  Giacomo, 
and  the  peasants  of  sunny  Italy  are,  tempo 
rarily  at  least,  taking  the  place  of  the  vola 
tile  and  genial  Gaul ;  and  they  have  brought 
their  barbarisms  with  them.  They  are  not 
our  barbarisms,  of  the  counting-house  and 
the  shop  and  the  mine,  but  the  hot  blood  of 
the  South,  the  quick  word,  and  the  knife. 


l8o     FROM    A    NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

Whether  is  better  the  mean  tawdry  life  of 
vulgar  commonplace,  high  or  low,  gilded  or 
unvarnished,  or  the  life  that  rests  on  a  word, 
a  Hash,  a  blow,  —  good-night !  —  Say  rather, 
which  is  worse  ? 

At  least  this  is  to  be  said,  —  while  there 
is  life  there  is  hope,  and  it  takes  so  small 
an  aperture  for  the  soul  to  creep  through  ! 
'"Tis  not  so  deep  as  a  well,  nor  so  wide 
as  a  church  door ;  but  'tis  enough,  'twill 
serve."  Our  vulgarisms  are  the  meanest  of 
the  mean,  and  we  have  enough  of  them, 
Heaven  knows.  But  if  "  There  is  some  soul 
of  goodness  in  things  evil,"  as  Shakespeare 
says,  we  have  a  right  to  hope  that  in  the 
coining  days  there  may  be  ever  more  of  the 
sweet  and  wholesome  growing  therefrom,  as 
the  richest  flowers  spring  from  the  soil  where 
we  have  buried  most  of  that  which  was 
noisome  and  vile. 

While  I  have  been  writing,  we  have  had 
another  shower,  and  again  the  sunlight  lies 
upon  the  freshened  fields.  The  contribution 
has  not  been  large,  but  perhaps  the  charm 
of  the  evil  eye  has  been  broken,  and  better 
days  are  in  store  for  us. 

JULY  4,  1894. 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      l8l 


XXXIV. 

IT  is  said  that  every  man  should  be  the 
architect  of  his  own  fortunes,  and  I  think 
that  each  should  be,  at  least  in  a  degree, 
the  architect  of  his  own  house.  It  is  not  a 
bad  plan  for  him  to  be  to  some  extent  its 
builder  also.  It  should  represent  his  ideas, 
if  he  has  any,  in  its  arrangement  and  con 
struction  ;  he  should  watch  it  grow  under 
his  eyes,  look  after  the  setting  of  the  roots, 
follow  it  up  into  the  air,  place  a  loving  hand 
on  its  stones  and  timbers,  know  intimately 
what  is  contained  in  its  walls  and  partitions 
as  well  as  what  is  contained  between  them, 
and  do  something  himself  toward  putting 
them  together. 

I  know  that  it  is  said  that  a  shoemaker 
should  stick  to  his  last,  and  that  when  a 
man  is  his  own  lawyer,  he  has  a  fool  for  a 
client.  And  there  is  much  truth  in  both  of 
these  statements.  The  professional  is,  or 
should  be,  indispensable  ;  but  he  cannot 
replace  the  client  in  his  knowledge  of  the 
thing  which  is  most  appropriate  to  him. 


1 82     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

One  would  not  wish  to  have  some  one  else 
select  all  his  books  and  pictures  for  him,  or 
even  his  wife  and  children. 

I  have  followed  with  a  critical  and  caress 
ing  eye  the  growth  of  the  cottage  on  the 
hillside,  and  have  experienced  a  glow  of 
satisfaction  in  seeing  the  manner  in  which 
the  irregular  blocks  found  their  places,  and 
I  hope  the  lichens  will  take  kindly  to  the 
new  angle  at  which  the  sun  and  wind  must 
reach  them.  When  the  cellar  was  covered 
I  went  down  into  the  cool  shadow,  and  felt 
myself  in  a  manner  at  home,  though  the 
outlook  was  somewhat  as  through  the  port 
holes  of  a  ship,  excepting  that  the  deep  blue 
sea  was  replaced  by  the  green  valley  and 
the  deep  blue  hills  on  the  horizon.  And  I 
walked  the  rough  floor,  as  a  captain  might 
walk  his  quarter-deck,  and  looked  through 
the  door-frames,  and  the  irregular  apertures 
where  the  window-frames  ought  to  be,  and 
began  to  realize  more  fully  that  all  this  vast 
outdoors  is  mine,  whatever  futile  efforts  my 
thousand  neighbours  may  make  to  retain 
their  proprietorship. 

To-day  I  went  up  on  the  side  of  the  ledge 
and  selected  certain  special  stones  which  I 
desired  to  have  worked  into  the  walls.  And 
some  of  them  I  brought  down  myself  upon 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      183 

a  rickety  wheelbarrow.  How  astonishingly 
a  wheelbarrow  wobbles  when  you  have  a 
somewhat  heavier  load  on  board  than  you 
are  quite  equal  to  !  It  really  is  the  tipsiest 
sort  of  a  conveyance,  and  you  feel  yourself 
a  kindred  spirit.  But  I  succeeded  in  com 
pleting  the  journey  with  all  but  the  heavi 
est,  and  for  the  raising  and  transfer  of  this 
I  was  compelled  to  call  for  assistance.  And 
then  came  the  placing,  in  which  I  became  a 
free  and  accepted  inason,  pushing  with  my 
little  might  to  swing  the  boom  of  the  derrick 
into  place,  and  handling  the  crowbar  in  the 
adjustment  upon  the  corner.  It  is  true  that 
I  had  the  assistance  of  the  professionals,  or 
rather,  assisted  them,  which  being  inter 
preted  means  that  they  probably  wished  me 
in  Ballyhack,  wherever  that  may  be.  How 
ever,  they  were  very  amiable,  and  let  me 
have  my  way,  and  I  am  sure  that  the  house 
will  be  a  better  house  —  for  me  —  because  I 
have  had  a  hand  in  its  construction. 

The  trap-rock  of  which  I  am  building 
will  stand  any  amount  of  pressure  when 
well  placed,  but  it  is  very  brittle  when 
struck,  and  sometimes  breaks  anywhere 
but  where  one  desires,  and  Hies  into  a 
dozen  pieces.  Therefore  we  have,  so  far 
as  possible,  to  secure  such  masses  as  will 


1 84     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

serve  us  without  alteration,  and  it  being 
understood  that  the  best  face  is  to  be 
shown  to  the  world,  this  costs  a  good  deal 
of  time.  But  the  game  is  amply  worth  the 
candle.  I  verily  believe  that  no  such  beau 
tiful  wall,  considering  its  location  and  pur 
pose,  could  be  erected  of  any  other  mate 
rial.  The  softer  mosses,  I  suppose,  will 
all  disappear  under  the  greater  exposure, 
and  perhaps  some  of  the  larger  and  coarser 
lichens  also;  but  the  finer  and  more  delicate 
ones,  I  am  sure,  will  remain  and  continue  to 
grow.  And  the  weather  stains  are  also  cer 
tainly  permanent.  When  the  cement  in 
the  cracks  is  thoroughly  dried,  it  is  covered 
with  a  whitish  efflorescence,  which  is  very 
effective,  though  perhaps  it  has  rather  too 
much  accent.  It  will  doubtless,  however, 
gradually  tone  down  under  the  action  of 
the  dust,  little  of  this  though  there  be, 
which  can  wander  hitherward  across  the 
fields  ;  certainly  none  that  can  be  perceived 
in  the  air.  The  vines,  I  am  sure,  will  take 
kindly  to  this  rough  surface,  and  I  shall 
only  hesitate  to  let  them  cover  too  much 
of  it. 

JULY  9,  18»i. 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      185 


XXXV. 

LOST  ! 

CAN  you  imagine  anything  that  could 
cause  a  more  hopeless  sinking  of  your  heart 
than  to  have  it  suddenly  announced  to  you 
in  the  gloaming  that  your  child  had  strayed 
away  and  was  lost  ?  The  light  lingers  on 
the  edge  of  the  sky  above  the  hills,  the  steel 
gray  showing  that  the  dust  has  recently 
been  washed  out  of  it.  The  stars  be-gem 
the  vault  overhead,  and  the  crescent  moon 
has  just  begun  to  throw  down  a  faint  re 
flected  light,  a  suggestion  only  of  what  she 
may  do  when  she  grows  older  and  stronger. 
There  is  an  uncertain  mingling  of  the  day 
light,  which  is  fast  fading,  and  the  lamp 
light,  which  hai'dly  serves  to  do  more  than 
to  make  the  coming  darkness  visible,  and 
the  dew  is  falling,  and  there  is  a  suspicion 
of  a  chill  in  the  air,  —and  the  child  is  lost. 

Quick  !  The  darkness  grows  apace. 
Whither  shall  we  go  ?  Down  behind  the 
inn  to  the  brook,  or  by  the  road  to  the 


186     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

river  ?  Or  may  it  possibly  be  along  the 
village  street  that  he  strayed?  Or  —  you 
remember  Charley  Ross? 

Hurry !  He  has  not  been  seen  for  half 
an  hour,  — an  hour.  Look  — everywhere  ! 
Bring  the  horse  and  the  buckboard.  Let 
us  fly  ! 

Well,  well !  .It  was  a  false  alarm.  The 
little  fellow  had  strayed  away  some  hun 
dreds  of  yards,  and  had  been  hospitably 
entreated  by  a  thoughtless  neighbour  ;  and 
here  he  is  by  his  mother's  side  again,  and 
all  is  well.  And  the  full  eyes  of  the  mother 
say,  Good  friends,  pardon  me.  I  am  very 
sorry  to  have  alarmed  you  so,  but  —  but  — 
he  was  lost !  My  child  was  lost ! 

JULY  9. 1894. 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      187 


XXXVI. 

I  SUPPOSE  it  was  fated  that  Pandora  should 
lift  the  cover  from  the  box.  We  may  wish 
that  she  had  sat  upon  it,  or  tumbled  it  into 
the  sea,  or  disposed  of  it  in  some  other  way, 
but  it  is  of  no  use.  The  box  was  to  be 
opened.  That  way  lay  the  path  of  the  race, 
and  take  any  by-road  you  might,  you  were 
sure  to  come  out  upon  the  same  track  at  last. 

But  I  think  that  the  Greeks  only  had  a 
forecast  of  what  might  be,  and  that  the  box 
was  not  really  opened  until  very  recently. 
The  ancients  thought  that  they  had  puzzling 
questions  to  deal  with,  but  they  were  mis 
taken.  They  might  badger  their  brains 
about  "Fixed  fate,  freewill,  foreknowledge 
absolute  "  ;  but  these,  being  insoluble  riddles 
which  they  might  take  or  leave,  were  simply 
personal  problems,  as  were  most  others  with 
which  they  had  to  deal.  It  was  left  to  the 
age  of  the  printing  press,  steam,  and  electri 
city,  above  all  to  the  age  of  the  "  walking 
delegate,"  to  propound  puzzles  which  must 
be  dealt  with  if  human  society  is  to  continue 


188     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

to  exist,  but  with  which  we  are  apparently 
powerless  to  deal. 

Up  on  the  slope  atUnderledge  the  ground 
is  not  now  as  moist  as  we  should  like  it  to 
be,  though  the  weather  is  absolutely  perfect. 
Some  of  us  are  very  poor,  and  none  of  us 
feel  very  rich  ;  but  we  get  something  to  eat 
almost  every  day,  and  if  we  do  not  have  a 
good  thick  juicy  beefsteak  at  each  meal,  we 
remember  having  read  of  persons  who  had 
made  a  fair  repast  upon  shoe  leather.  We 
look  about  us,  and  we  see  labouring  men  of 
moderate  calibre,  who  have  never  had  more 
than  a  labouring  man's  modest  wages,  who 
have  married  and  brought  up  families, 
and  who,  withal,  have  established  and  own 
comfortable  homes  in  which  they  live  under 
their  own  vines  and  cherry  trees.  They  get 
their  dollar  and  a  half  a  day  when  they  can 
earn  it,  and  when  they  cannot  earn  it  they 
dig  in  the  garden,  or  tend  the  baby,  and 
hope  for  the  time  when  they  can. 

Most  of  us  receive  a  daily  newspaper,  or  if 
we  do  not  take  one  ourselves,  we  borrow  our 
neighbour's,  or  we  hear  what  the  paper  con 
tains  when  we  go  down  to  the  post-office. 
And  nowadays  the  paper  contains  the  most 
remarkable  tales.  It  appears  that  millions 
of  dollars  worth  of  property  has  been  burned 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      l8g 

or  otherwise  destroyed ;  that  many  more 
millions  worth  of  damage  has  been  effected 
by  the  derangement  of  business  ;  that  num 
bers  of  lives  have  been  sacrificed,  and  incal 
culable  misery  has  been  inflicted  over  a  vast 
extent  of  territory  by  combinations  of  men 
banded  together  to  prevent  other  men,  if 
possible,  from  doing  just  what  our  labouring 
men  have  done  at  Underledge,  just  what  the 
intelligent  and  industrious  workingman  has 
been  doing  for  several  thousand  years  past, 
—  the  best  that  he  could  do  for  himself  and 
his  family,  as  an  honest,  self-respecting 
member  of  society. 

This  is  the  situation  as  it  appears  to  us. 
We  suppose  that  a  man  can  give  up  work 
ing  if  he  chooses,  if  he  thereby  breaks  no 
contract,  and  does  not  compel  others  to 
support  him  in  idleness;  but  there,  so  far  as 
we  can  perceive,  his  right  ends.  When  he 
undertakes  to  prevent  others  from  work 
ing  who  desire  to  do  so,  he  is  acting  as  an 
enemy  of  the  first  principle  upon  which 
civilization  and  society  rest ;  he  is  guilty 
of  treason  against  the  race,  and  there  is 
no  punishment  which  the  race  can  impose 
which  is  a  fit  measure  of  his  guilt.  This 
treason  must  be  put  down  if  it  takes  every 
able-bodied  man,  and  the  cripples  also,  and 


IQO     FROM    A    NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

every  dollar's  worth  of  property  in  exist 
ence  ;  it  must  be  put  clown  at  the  cost  of 
everything  which  society  possesses  ;  at  the 
cost,  if  need  be,  of  wiping  off  the  face  of  the 
land  all  that  has  been  put  upon  it  during 
the  past  four  hundred  years,  leaving  a  clean 
page,  upon  which,  let  us  hope,  to  write  a 
more  cheerful  history. 

This  is  the  way  it  looks  to  us  at  Under- 
ledge,  and  we  are  ready  to  do  our  part,  if 
called  upon,  to  correct  the  abuse.  But  it 
seems  to  us  a  not  unimportant  fact  in 
connection  with  this  time  and  the  future, 
that  there  are  said  to  be  hundreds  of  thou 
sands  of  persons  throughout  the  country, 
scattered  here  and  there  all  over  the  land, 
who  are  associated  in  this  movement,  or 
who  sympathize  with  it,  or  who,  under 
slightly  different  conditions,  would  take 
similar  action,  and  that  it  is  impossible  to 
show  them  the  utter  folly  of  their  beliefs, 
and  of  their  course ;  that  governors  of 
states,  United  States  senators  and  repre 
sentatives,  and  lesser  officials  innumerable, 
give  aid  and  comfort  to  them  ;  that  min 
isters  of  the  gospel  and  college  professors 
pander  to  their  fallacious  fancies  and  stim 
ulate  their  wild  hopes,  and  thus  promote 
their  destructive  work.  Not  that  all  these 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      19 1 

counsel  or  countenance  the  illegal  and 
violent  acts  referred  to,  but  that  that  which 
they  advocate  or  approve  or  suggest  will 
lead  to  such  results,  just  as  surely  as  night 
follows  the  day.  And  all  the  while  we 
remember  that  this  is  a  "popular"  govern 
ment,  and  that  in  these  times  a  popular 
government  usually  means  in  practice  not 
a  competition  for  the  suffrages  and  support 
of  the  intelligent  and  thoughtful,  but  bids 
by  the  machinists  of  both  the  leading  par 
ties,  and  often  of  the  outlying  factions, 
for  the  votes  of  all  the  crack-brained,  the 
turbulent,  the  dissatisfied,  and  the  lazy. 

So  we  do  not  look  upon  the  field  of  the 
immediate  future,  either  here  or  abroad,  as 
a  bed  of  roses.  It  seems  much  more  likely 
to  be  the  paradise  of  the  demagogue  and 
the  visionary,  and  the  inferno  of  the  quiet 
citizen  who  wishes  to  "live  in  the  spirit." 

Nevertheless,  we  desire  to  keep  our  heads 
level.  We  remember  that  somebody  wrote 
recently  "Don't  fret,"  and  we  intend  to 
remember  the  charge.  We  recall  that  dur 
ing  the  July  riots  in  New  York,  in  18(53, 
there  came  a  heavy  shower,  and  the  mob 
scattered  like  sheep.  And  we  hope  for  some 
cooling  baptism  that  will  send  people  back 
to  their  homes  where  they  can  collect  their 


IQ2     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

thoughts,  and  perhaps  recall,  or  have  a  rev 
elation  of  the  fact,  that  salvation  does  not 
come  to  masses,  but  to  individuals.  We  are 
an  inventive  people,  and  we  have  machines 
performing  a  great  variety  of  operations  ; 
but,  so  far  as  we  have  heard,  none  has 
yet  been  received  at  the  patent  office  war 
ranted  to  make  the  world  over  again  as 
good  as  new,  but  upon  a  different  plan  ;  and 
we  would  suggest  to  the  various  philoso 
phers  who  are  busily  employed  in  devising 
such  machines  that  an  honest  day's  work 
can  be  much  more  easily  and  effectively 
performed  by  strengthening,  polishing,  and 
lubricating  the  machinery  already  in  use, 
and  by  doing  themselves,  and  inducing 
others  to  do,  a  little  more  faithful  labour 
than  has  been  hitherto  accomplished.  These 
are  homely  remedies,  but  wholesome,  like 
the  cooling  herbs  of  our  grandmothers,  more 
reliable  than  any  patent  medicines,  and 
likely  to  prove  more  efficient  than  the  drugs 
of  Debs,  Bellamy,  Most,  et  id  genus  omne. 

JULY  10, 1891. 


FROM   A    NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      K 


XXXVII. 

LAST  night  the  heavens  came  down  in 
grateful  showers.  They  were  not  all  that 
we  desired,  but  they  were  more  than  we 
had  had  before  in  many  weeks,  and  we  rec 
ognize  the  bounty.  And  so  I  am  sure  do 
tree  and  vine  and  herb,  if  there  is  any  vir 
tue  in  the  expressions  with  which  they  have 
greeted  the  morning.  The  wilted  leaves 
have  become  again  firm  and  green,  the 
branches  and  twigs  graceful  and  elastic, 
the  blossoms  bright  and  clear. 

Upon  the  unwritten  domestic  calendar 
the  memorandum  appears,  "About  this 
time  look  out  for  young  chickens,"  and 
therefore  my  first  visit  on  my  return  was 
to  the  poultry-yard.  And  I  hope  that  I 
was  duly  thankful  when  I  found  one  little 
elliptical  fluffy  duffer  as  the  net  result  of 
two  good  "clutches"  of  eggs.  And  I  hope 
that  he  or  she  —  or  "he-sh,"  should  I  say  ? 
—  feels  in  a  proper  degree  the  responsibility 
thrown  upon  "himr  "  as  the  sole  represen 
tative  of  so  many  promising  beginnings, 
o 


194     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

Already  within  the  brief  period  of  my  ab 
sence  the  infant  had  pecked  a  way  into  the 
world  through  the  crisp  limestone  wall  by 
which  he  had  been  surrounded,  and  had 
begun  to  push  "hisr"  pin-feathers.  Its 
voice  was  at  least  twice  as  big  as  its  body, 
and  attested  as  good  a  pair  of  lungs  as  one 
could  wish.  Yet  a  little  while,  and  doubt 
less  the  infant  prodigy  will  bridle  and  strut 
with  all  the  dignity  appropriate  to  the  first 
born  on  the  new  estate. 

The  house  has  made  good  progress,  and 
the  masons  are  completing  their  work. 
Four  walls  with  many  and  large  port-holes 
form  the  hull  of  the  vessel,  and  we  shall 
soon  be  ready  for  the  top-hamper. 

The  persistency  with  which  most  of  the 
inhabitants  of  the  garden  continued  to  grow 
during  the  drought  was  a  constant  marvel. 
Doubtless  last  night's  rain  will  help  them 
greatly,  although  the  ground  is  not  soaked 
for  a  depth  of  more  than  from  one  to  four 
inches,  in  reverse  degree  according  to  its 
firmness.  But  even  before  this  came,  the 
general  appearance  was  good,  and  some 
things  were  doing  finely.  My  sweet  peas, 
my  "sweet  sixteen,"  the  sole  representa 
tives  in  the  garden  of  those  that  neither  toil 
nor  spin,  gave  me  a  great  jar  full  of  blus- 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      195 

soms  yesterday  morning,  and  there  were 
more  in  the  afternoon,  and  again  to-day. 
And  how  lovely  they  are  !  People  almost 
seemed  to  have  forgotten  them  until  ten 
years  ago;  they  were  flowers  of  the  "old 
gardens."  And  then  Dame  Fashion  took 
them  up,  — by  a  strange  inadvertence  mak 
ing  a  happy  choice,  —  and  strangely  enough 
she  has  not  yet  discarded  them.  They  were 
too  lovely  for  her  favour  to  spoil  them  ;  but  I 
am  not  sure  that  those  of  us  who  love  flowers 
for  what  they  are,  will  not  find  them  sweeter 
and  dearer  when  she  shall  have  passed 
them  by. 

The  season  is  waxing  older.  The  fragrant 
odour  of  the  milkweeds  here  and  there  fills 
the  air,  the  wild  carrot  lifts  its  jewelled  lace 
over  the  recently  mown  fields ;  two  days 
ago  I  saw  the  golden-rod  by  the  roadside  in 
the  old  Bay  State,  and  the  dark  red  clusters 
of  the  chokecherry  bedeck  the  hedgerows. 
The  days  grow  perceptibly  shorter,  ere  yet 
the  year  has  reached  its  climax. 

Familiar  faces  are  missing  at  the  inn, 
and  familiar  voices  are  silent.  Already 
their  owners  are  doubtless  far,  far  away, 
speeding  over  the  summer  seas,  perhaps  —  I 
hope  surely  —  to  find  balm  in  the  Gilead  of 
another  clime  and  other  scenes,  among  an 


196     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

alien  people.  We  shall  miss  them  sorely, 
but  what  would  you  ?  "As  ships  that  pass 
in  the  night."  Yea,  verily.  Through  the 
years  it  is  "  Hail  !  "  and  "  Farewell  !  "  But 
is  it  not  a  pleasant  thought  that  here  and 
there,  scattered  over  the  wide,  wide  world, 
there  are  those  whom  you  may  never  again 
meet,  but  with  whom  you  have  memories 
in  common,  those  into  whose  eyes  and  hearts 
you  have  sometime  looked  far  enough  to 
see  truth  therein,  and  to  know  that  there  is 
an  unbound  freemasonry  in  which  you  and 
they  are  forever  comrades  for  weal  or  for 
woe  ?  What  matters  it  though  seas  roll 
their  waves  between,  though  ripening  years 
sink  away  into  the  eternal  silence  ?  "  Age 
cannot  wither"  the  unchanging  past. 

And  so,  as  through  the  night  watches 
the  stanch  vessels  pass,  and  fade  away  in 
the  darkness,  we  breathe  a  loving  benison 
upon  the  disappearing  craft,  and  bid  them 
godspeed.  It  may  be  that  the  storm  clouds 
lower,  the  lightning  flashes,  the  thunder 
reverberates  from  mass  to  mass,  the  surg 
ing  waves  plunge  angrily  before  the  driving 
gale.  But  above  it  all,  the  stars  are  shining 
silently  in  the  infinite  spaces,  and  beyond 
the  tempest,  and  sometimes  even  in  the 
heart  of  it,  there  is  peace. 

JULY  22,  18!)4. 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      197 


XXXVIII. 

IN  times  of  drought  such  as  this,  the  foun 
tains  of  nature  seem  to  get  into  the  condi 
tion  of  a  pump  which  has  ceased  to  "  draw," 
at  which  you  may  work  and  work  to  heart's 
content,  or  discomfort,  but  nothing  conies. 
Parturiunt  mantes,  nascitur  ridiculus 
mns.  Yesterday  the  mercury  in  the  ther 
mometer  mounted  higher  and  higher  during 
the  day,  like  the  price  of  gold  upon  the 
famous  Good  Friday,  until  it  hovered  on 
the  edge  of  ninety-eight  degrees,  and  the 
aerial  currents  marked  an  even  temperature 
with  the  vital  ones.  Then  came  the  gath 
ering  of  a  tempest ;  thin  clouds  formed  over 
the  sky,  becoming  from  moment  to  moment 
more  dense  ;  heavy  and  threatening  cumu 
lus  masses  arose  in  the  south,  and  gradually 
covered  the  heavens,  south,  east,  and  west ; 
magnificent  thunder-heads  climbed  toward 
the  zenith  ;  a  deep  leaden-blue  veil  spread 
over  all  that  portion  of  the  vault,  occasion 
ally  rent  by  sharp  flashes  of  lightning,  fol 
lowed  by  reverberating  thunder,  and  in  a 


ig»     FROM   A    NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

brief  time  the  whole  sky  was  shrouded  ; 
we  took  our  places  on  the  front  porch  to 
inhale  the  freshening  breeze  and  watch  the 
oncoming  of  the  anticipated  torrents,  some 
what  awed,  as  most  are,  by  the  outburst 
of  heaven's  artillery  ;  but  not  one  solitary 
moistening  drop  did  the  storm  vouchsafe 
us.  The  clouds  gradually  thinned  and  parted 
in  the  west ;  with  the  coming  night  the  stars 
again  looked  out  upon  the  lower  world,  and 
the  torrid  earth  radiated  its  burning  heat 
into  the  night  air. 

This  morning  the  sun  again  stares  down 
upon  the  parched  fields,  and  the  mercury 
again  climbs  slowly  and  steadily  toward 
the  centennial  mark.  While  walking  along 
the  dusty  road,  and  crossing  the  open  fields, 
the  heat  seemed  almost  to  burn  into  the 
brain  and  cause  it  to  sizzle.  The  long  sharp 
rattle  of  the  common  locust  marks  the  day 
with  its  characteristic  note.  Hut  here,  sit 
ting  upon  the  bank  at  the  border  and  in  the 
shade  of  my  wood  which  masks  the  low 
cliff,  a  pleasant  breeze  soothes  my  bare 
brow  and  revives  the  spirit  of  life  within 
me. 

I  wonder  whether  I  can  picture  the  scene  ? 
Behind  me  the  wind  awakens  a  soothing 
murmur  among  the  trees,  through  which 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      199 

the  hot  sunlight  filters  here  and  there,  flick 
ering  pleasantly  upon  the  moving  leaves. 
Before  me  fall  away  the  gently  undulating 
slopes  of  the  "mountain  meadow,"  with 
the  poultry-yard  between  me  and  the  high 
way,  close  to  the  edge  of  the  wood,  from 
which  from  time  to  time  I  hear  the  cackle 
of  the  hens  or  the  crowing  of  the  cocks, 
some  of  which,  with  characteristic  curiosity, 
stray  down  to  the  corner  nearest  to  me  and 
watch  me  at  my  writing.  Were  I  nearer,  I 
should  also  hear  the  pleasant  chirping  of 
the  downy  chicks,  now  numbering  a  dozen 
or  more,  clustered  confidingly  around  their 
careful  foster-mother.  The  line  of  shadow 
from  the  woods  extends  a  short  distance  in 
front  of  me  ;  then  comes  the  open  sunny 
field,  from  which  the  hay  was  recently  har 
vested,  now  speckled  over  with  the  branch 
ing  stems  and  flat  white  crowns  of  the  wild 
carrot ;  beyond  and  slightly  to  the  left,  the 
slender  village  spire  lifts  itself  against  the 
distant  hills,  overtopping  a  curtain  of  deep 
green  trees.  It  was  of  this  that  Elihu  Bur- 
ritt,  "  the  learned  blacksmith,"  said,  that  as 
he,  then  a  little  urchin,  looked  down  upon  it 
from  Sunset  Rock,  he  felt  as  one  should  do 
in  looking  for  the  first  time  upon  St.  Peter's, 
and  thought  that  if  the  big  rooster  (which  in 


2OO     FROM    A    NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

those  days  was  really  a  crown)  should  crow, 
"the  rude  forefathers  of  the  hamlet"  up  in 
heaven  would  certainly  recognize  his  voice, 
and  know  that  he  was  an  Underledge 
rooster,  and  that  he  brought  news  of  the 
faithfulness  of  their  successors. 

Upon  the  slope  directly  in  front  of  me,  and 
fifty  or  sixty  yards  away,  are  the  drying 
walls  of  the  cottage,  with  their  wide-open 
eyes,  and  heaped  around  is  the  lumber  for 
the  superstructure,  which  during  the  next 
sennight  will  so  greatly  change  the  appear 
ance  of  the  building.  The  rapid  fall  of  the 
ground  beyond  conceals  from  my  view,  from 
this  point,  the  picturesque  pasture  and  the 
damp,  green  marsh ;  but  I  see  the  orchard 
beyond,  then  here  and  there  a  chimney  or 
bit  of  roof  rising  among  the  trees  at  the 
north  end  of  the  village,  then  the  line  of 
great  elms  and  maples  indicating  the  course 
of  the  river.  The  farm  lands  of  the,  intervale 
show  varying  shades  of  green  and  brown, 
spotted  here  and  there  with  scattered  trees, 
and  divided  by  a  few  fences  scarcely  visible 
from  here,  and  wild  hedgerows,  with  a 
considerable  farmstead  in  the  middle  dis 
tance,  two  or  three  isolated  houses  and 
barns,  an  occasional  cluster  of  bits  of 
roof  indicating  a  village,  with  now  and 


FROM    A    NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      2OI 

then  a  faint  church  spire.  On  a  moderate 
hill  nearly  to  the  north,  and  eight  or  ten 
miles  away,  I  see  distinctly  in  the  noon- 
clay  light  the  long  walls  of  the  great  new 
house  of  a  New  York  merchant.  To  the 
east  of  north,  and  on  my  right,  runs  out 
the  line  of  high  hills  which  abut  upon  the 
"second  mountain"  and  form  the  rim  of 
our  basin  to  the  east,  with  gently  sloping 
cultivated  fields  between,  and  still  show 
ing  on  the  hither  side  a  remnant  of  the 
old  "  Pilgrims'  Path  "  of  the  colonial  time. 
Due  north,  and  fifteen  miles  away,  rise 
from  the  valley  the  two  singular  hills 
which  form  its  portal. 

Nearly  the  whole  country  seems  covered 
with  forest,  though  most  of  it  is  young  or 
of  moderate  age, —  probably  none  "prime 
val,"  as  I  have  heretofore  said, —  and  here 
and  there  in  the  distance  I  see  a  space 
marked  by  recent  severe  cutting,  or  browned 
by  a  late  forest-lire.  Beyond  the  valley  the 
hills  lie  in  ranges,  almost  seeming,  toward 
"Satan's  kingdom"  in  the  northwest,  or 
thirty  miles  away  in  the  far  north,  to  float 
in  the  hot  and  hazy  air  ;  and  they  recede 
until  they  become  indistinguishable  in  tint 
from  the  sky  which  falls  to  meet  them. 

Over  all  this  spreads  the  sky,  fading  from 


202     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

a  translucent  blue  overhead  to  a  warm  pale 
tint  above  the  hills,  with  detached  fleecy 
clouds  which  seem  as  if  every  drop  of 
moisture  had  been  squeezed  out  of  them, 
and  they  were  of  no  more  promise  to  the 
vegetable  or  animal  world  than  so  much 
gun-cotton  ;  while  marshalled  around  the 
horizon  are  the  faint  blue-pink  heaps 
which  from  hour  to  hour  hold  out  to  us 
the  promise  which  they  never  keep. 

This  is  the  scene  upon  which  I  look. 
And  as  I  write  I  hear  the  characteristic 
note  of  the  thistle  bird  as  it  plunges  along 
in  its  diving  flight ;  in  front,  flutters  a  yel 
low  butterfly,  and  above  soar  two  or  three 
swallows  seeking  for  insects ;  the  line  of 
shadow  draws  nearer  to  my  feet,  and  I 
notice  the  leaves  of  the  melon  vines  wilting 
in  the  fervent  heat.  And  still  the  trees 
wave  and  bend  before  the  breeze,  and  I 
seem  to  hear  a  low  rumble  as  of  distant 
tl mnder.  Hush  !  Hark  !  Yes,  it  surely  is  ; 
but  still  the  eye  sinks  far  away  into  the 
blue  of  the  sky,  and  the  hot  sunlight  beats 
upon  the  hillside. 

JULY  29,  1894. 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     203 


XXXIX. 

D  Sannenbaum,  D  Sannenbaum, 
SSte  treu  fmb  bctne  33tatter. 
Tu  griinft  nid)t  nur  jur  ©ommerjeit, 
9letn,  and)  int  SSinter  roenn  e§  ftfinett. 
D  aannenbaum,  D  Sannenbaum, 
2!3ie  treu  nnb  bcine  23fatter. 

YESTERDAY  morning  we  went  up  into  a 
neighbouring  wood  to  select  some  cedar 
trees  whose  trunks  shall  serve  as  pillars  for 
the  porches.  They  are  to  be  straight  and 
firm,  and  are  to  have  the  branches  cut  off 
and  to  have  the  bark  stripped  from  them, 
but  otherwise  they  are  to  be  left  in  their 
natural  condition.  Branches  of  the  same, 
not  too  pronounced  in  their  eccentricity, 
will  be  used  for  the  balustrade  and  the 
trellis  beneath.  Then  honeysuckles  and 
other  vines  will  be  invited  to  lend  their 
graceful  tracery  in  decoration,  and  their 
grateful  shade  from  the  southern,  eastern, 
and  western  sun. 

It  is  almost  a  pity  that  the  living  trees 
cannot  be  taken  and  made  to  serve  our 


204     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

turn.  They  coine  into  om'  lives  in  many 
ways,  and  at  all  times  and  seasons.  How 
beautiful  they  were  last  winter,  laden  down 
with  the  fleecy  shower,  the  dark  green  of 
their  leaves  contrasting  with  the  whiteness 
of  their  burden  of  snow !  And  at  the 
Christmastide  some  of  their  race  bore  a 
wondrous  variety  of  fruit,  of  which  the 
gem  of  all  was  the  kindly  feeling  which  in 
spired  the  festival.  And  now  as  the  warm 
sun  upon  their  branches  brings  out  the 
spicy  odours,  we  recognize  the  very  essence 
of  the  forest  in  its  completeness.  Below 
us,  winding  about  among  the  roots  in  the 
bottom  of  the  little  valley,  tumble  and 
gurgle  the  waters  of  the  "  Great  brook,"  with 
trout  doubtless  lurking  here  and  there,  seek 
ing  shelter  from  the  heat  under  the  shadow 
ing  banks  of  the  deeper  pools  ;  while  on  the 
other  side,  above  the  slope,  tall  hemlock 
trees  spread  their  protecting  branches  until 
they  interlace,  leaving  open  spaces  below 
quite  clear  of  underbrush,  carpeted  with 
brown  leaves,  and  forming  solemn,  shadowy 
aisles. 

I  hardly  think  that  the  first  and  strong 
est  impression  that  we  get  of  the  German 
people  as  we  see  them  in  this  country,  is 
the  poetic.  And  yet  how  full  they  are  of 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     205 

music,  and  how  their  songs  and  their  lit 
erature  are  permeated  by  the  impressions 
derived  from  nature,  and  how  strong  a  love 
for  it  they  manifest  !  Some  of  us  prefer  to 
take  these  things  diluted  with  a  smaller 
amount  of  beer,  and  prefer  the  scent  of 
roses  alone,  rather  than  mixed  with  those 
of  tobacco  and  other  things.  But  even  these 
are  more  like  the  odour  of  sanctity  than  some 
things  which  are  characteristic  of  our  urban 
life. 

On  a  festival,  the  German  instinctively 
seeks  the  country  and  the  woodlands. 
The  Schwarzwald  and  the  Bohmerwald, 
and  the  Tliiiringerwald  maintain  their 
hold  upon  him,  whether  he  comes  from 
their  shadowy  recesses  or  not.  And  it  is 
fair  to  believe  that  his  homely  wholesome 
family  life  has  some  not  unnatural  connec 
tion  with  this  life  in  the  open  air,  and 
among  our  brothers  who  draw  their  sus 
tenance  directly  from  the  soil. 

The  proper  study  of  mankind  is  man. 
Yes,  doubtless.  And  the  first  claimant  on 
our  aid  and  bounty,  if  we  have  them  to 
give,  is  likewise  man.  But  there  are  many 
ways  in  which  this  study  can  be  made 
and  this  aid  extended,  and  it  is  not  unfair 
to  assume  that  something  can  be  gained 


2O6     FROM   A   NKW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

even  yet  by  "  going  back  to  nature."  And 
by  this  I  do  not  mean  throwing  away  what 
has  been  earned  in  the  past,  and  making 
shipwreck  of  civilization,  but  rather  the 
attempt  to  assimilate  this  new  food  if  we 
have  not  yet  become  quite  used  to  it,  by 
taking  it  in  instalments,  as  we  might  test  a 
boletus  or  a  coprinus  atramentarius,  falling 
back  for  our  mainstay  upon  good  whole 
some  brownbread,  potatoes,  and  roast  beef, 
which  by  long  experience  we  have  proved 
to  be  reliable  diet.  But  there,  I  am  not  a 
I'aganini,  and  I  think  that  I  have  played 
upon  that  one  string  more  than  once  before. 
It  is  a  good  string,  however,  and  susceptible 
of  infinite  variations  of  tone,  and  I  am  not 
sure  that  a  master  could  not  play  upon  it 
all  the  music  with  which  life  is  full. 

JULY  29,  1894. 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      207 


XL. 

I  SUPPOSE  that  most  people,  at  some  time 
or  other  in  their  careers,  "  get  their  come- 
upance,"  to  use  the  vernacular  of  these 
New  England  States.  This  was  my  reflec 
tion,  as  I  went  up  from  the  inn  yesterday 
and  turned  into  High  street,  when  I  beheld 
upon  the  descending  road  an  army  of 
dark-hued  men  from  the  shores  of  the  Medi 
terranean,  not  with  banners,  but  with  pick 
axes  and  shovels,  with  great  wires  and 
cross-ties  and  iron  rails,  digging  and  pulling 
and  hammering,  drawing  and  quartering, 
—  and  realized  that  vengeance  was  being 
meted  out  to  the  Goths  and  the  Vandals,  the 
Ostrogoths  and  the  Visigoths,  for  their 
descent  upon  the  sunny  South  a  millennium 
ago.  And  taking  refuge  from  Scylla,  I  came 
near  unto  falling  into  Charybdis  ;  for  there 
in  front  of  me,  turning  into  the  street  at  the 
other  end,  was  a  wandering  troubadour,  pre 
sumably  of  the  same  stock,  with  an  instru 
ment  of  torture  like  unto  an  upright  piano 
loaded  upon  a  go-cart.  I  incontinently  fled 


2O8     FROM    A   NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

into  the  fields,  hearing  behind  me,  but  sub 
dued  in  the  distance,  the  mocking  tintinnab 
ulation  of  the  fiend-like  machine. 

The  trolley  is  knocking  at  our  doors  ;  the 
uncouth  poles  already  mar  the  prospect,  and 
we  hear  the  sharp  ring  of  iron  upon  iron  as 
the  spikes  are  driven  home.  It  is  no  longer 
a  question  of  possibilities ;  the  emergency 
is  upon  us,  and  there  is  little  room  left  for 
speculation  as  to  what  changes  may  be  im 
pending.  With  characteristic  subjection  of 
common  rights  and  convenience  to  individ 
ual  ease  and  advantage,  our  main  highway 
—  outside  of  the  village  —  which  at  places  is 
but  narrow,  is  sacrificed  to  the  intruder,  and 
wicked  pedestrians,  and  riders  upon  horse 
back,  and  drivers  in  carriages,  must  take 
their  chances  of  disastrous  accident  or 
"electrocution." 

So  far,  thanks  to  close  supervision,  no 
serious  damage  has  been  done  to  our  finest 
trees,  and  we  hope  to  save  these  from 
destruction.  If  we  succeed  in  this,  we  shall 
be  more  fortunate  than  many;  but  we  view 
the  possibility  of  an  attack  upon  our  Main 
street  with  a  shudder  of  apprehension.  If 
the  cars  were  not  so  very  heavy,  we  should 
be  disposed  to  say  that  they  should  only 
pass  that  way,  if  at  all,  over  our  own 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     209 

bodies.  Halting  a  little  short  of  this  de 
gree  of  self-devotion,  we  at  least  solemnly 
vow  that  this  outrage  shall  be  endured 
only  when  all  legal  preventives  shall  have 
failed. 

What  a  farce  it  is  to  call  a  country  "  civ 
ilized,"  in  which  such  questions  are  liable 
from  day  to  day  to  be  presented,  to  chal- 
k'nge  the  firmness  and  public  spirit,  and  to 
consume  the  time  and  strength  of  the  intel 
ligent  citizen  !  Such  a  proposition  should 
answer  itself  as  promptly  and  conclusively  as 
a  similar  proposition  is  answered  in  the  old 
nursery  rhyme  :  — 

Said  Aaron  to  Moses, 

'  Let's  cut  off  our  noses.' 

Said  Moses  to  Aaron, 

'  It's  the  fashion  to  wear  'em.' 

I  hope  that  we  are  gradually  learning,  —  at 
least  some  of  us,  —  "  that  a  man's  life  con- 
sisteth  not  in  the  abundance  of  the  things 
which  he  possesseth,"  nor  in  the  viands 
which  appear  upon  his  table,  nor  in  the 
garments  that  he  wears,  though  all  these 
things  may  in  subordination  contribute  to  it ; 
and  that  the  glory  and  merit  of  a  village 
no  more  consist  in  the  number  of  its  inhab 
itants  irrespective  of  their  kind,  in  the 


2IO     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

bustle  upon  its  streets,  nor  in  the  gaudiness 
of  its  decorations. 

I  think  that  one  of  the  most  singular  ex 
hibitions  of  folly  that  we  have  ever  seen 
was  the  struggle  which  followed  the  late 
census,  the  emulation  between  different  lo 
calities,  each  seeking  to  establish  its  supe 
riority  by  enumerating  the  bodies,  not  the 
souls,  of  its  inhabitants.  As  if  a  hundred 
underfed,  undereducated,  undeveloped,  and 
unhappy  families  were  worth  one  homely, 
quiet  household,  full  of  the  joy  of  life 
and  love  and  helpfulness  !  As  if  the  ideal 
toward  which  the  world  is  struggling  were 
a  nest  of  squirming  maggots  ! 

It  seems  to  me  that  there  has  been  a 
little  chastening  of  this  spirit  within  these 
later  years,  and  that  quality  is  gradually 
attaining  something  of  its  rightful  recog 
nition  as  compared  with  quantity.  And 
we,  as  we  think  of  our  pleasant  old  village, 
and  its  quiet,  shady  street,  and  consider 
the  desolation  that  might  come  to  it,  turn 
from  the  gifts  which  the  interlopers  bring 
to  us,  and  ask  instead,  "  Beauty  for  ashes, 
the  oil  of  joy  for  mourning,  the  garment  of 
praise  for  the  spirit  of  heaviness." 

AUGUST  3,  18W. 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     211 


XLI. 

Ax  last !  at  last !  — 

The  thirsty  earth  soaks  up  the  rain, 
And  drinks,  and  gapes  for  drink  again. 

For  some  days  there  has  been  an  increas 
ing  thickening  in  the  atmosphere,  and  a 
greater  frequency  in  the  storms  which 
come  to  naught.  But  day  by  day  passed 
by,  and  the  dry  grasses  hung  their  dispir 
ited  blades  in  the  face  of  high  heaven.  As 
from  time  to  time  we  saw  the  rain  falling 
upon  the  distant  hills,  or  heard  of  the  re 
freshing  showers  in  the  neighbouring  towns, 
we  began  to  wonder  with  them  of  old  (it 
seems  to  me  that  I  remember  some  such 
passage),  "  Were  they  wicked  above  all 
others  upon  whom  the  tower  in  Siloam 
fell  ?  "  and  were  we  wicked  above  all  others 
upon  whom  the  rain  did  not  fall  ? 

Tester  evening  as  I  left  the  hillside,  my 
builder  pointed  out  this  and  that  sign  in 
the  lowering  sky  which  augured  well  for 
the  morrow.  But  when  I  sought  my  downy 


212      FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

couch,  faint  stars  still  glimmered  in  the 
quiet  night. 

Midnight  was  not  long  past,  however, 
before  a  steady  pattering  on  the  maple 
leaves  outside  the  window  recalled  me 
from  the  land  of  No-whither  into  which  I 
had  sunk.  Had  I  but  learned  to  "dream 
true,"  I  think  that  I  should  not  have  re 
turned  so  easily,  even  upon  so  pleasant  a 
call.  But  alas  !  I  have  not  yet  acquired 
that  faculty,  though  I  mean  to  do  so  one 
of  these  days.  As  it  was,  the  sound  was 
balm  to  my  spirit,  and  I  lay  for  a  long  time 
listening  to  the  pleasant  dropping,  and 
grudging  to  fall  asleep  again  lest  I  should 
waste  a  pleasant  opportunity,  and  some 
how,  by  carelessness,  bring  the  shower  to 
an  end.  And  so  I  continued  waking  and 
sleeping,  waking  and  sleeping,  through  the 
night,  keeping  watch  and  ward  over  the 
elements,  and  congratulating  myself  in  an 
incoherent  way  that  the  liquid  chain  did 
not  break. 

The  rain  continued  pretty  steadily  until 
the  middle  of  the  morning,  when  occasional 
flashes  of  lightning  and  rumbling  of  dis 
tant  thunder  told  us  that  we  had  to  do 
with  an  electric  storm,  and  not  with  a  full- 
grown  north-easter.  And  then  the  last 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      213 

drops  were  wrung  out,  the  expanding  cir 
cles  ceased  upon  the  pools,  the  rivulets  ran 
away  from  the  newly  stratified  sand  upon 
the  roadways,  with  their  wave  lines  and 
curves  and  ripples,  and  through  a  rift  in 
the  gray  clouds  the  sun  poured  down  its 
golden  rays  again  upon  the  grass  field, 
already  showing  a  fresh  verdancy  after  the 
unwonted  refreshment. 

The  world  goes  up,  and  the  world  goes  down. 
And  the  sunshine  follows  the  rain. 

It  is  the  first  time  in  many,  many  weeks 
that  the  ground  has  been  soaked,  and  I  do 
not  mourn  over  the  deep  pools  in  my  cellar, 
or  begin  to  speculate  upon  the  probability 
of  my  being  able  to  establish  a  domestic 
trout  pond  in  that  convenient  locality.  I 
merely  realize  gratefully  that  there  is 
scarcely  a  physical  possibility  that  we  shall 
have  it  so  dry  again  before  the  frost  comes. 

Some  others  of  our  home  circle  are  gone, 
soon  to  return,  we  hope,  with  the  shorten 
ing  days  and  lengthening  nights,  these  to 
the  Narragansett  shore,  and  those  to  the 
rocks  of  the  Pine  Tree  State.  And  to-mor 
row  Monsieur  and  Madame  Liquidambar 
tempt  the  ocean  surges  in  quest  of  the 


214     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

green  lanes  and  ivy-mantled  towers  of 
Merrie  England,  and  of  the  lakes  and 
mountains  of  misty  Scotland.  I  wonder 
whether  mayhap  in  some  al  fresco  repast 
at  Melrose  or  Dryburgh,  or  on  Ellen's 
Isle,  they  may  taste  the 

Herbs,  and  other  country  messes, 
Which  the  neat-handed  Phillis  dresses. 

But  the  Scribe  clings  to  his  hillside,  and 
as  again  in  the  darkness  of  the  deepen 
ing  night  the  fountains  of  the  heavens  are 
opened,  and  empty  themselves  upon  the 
earth,  he  gratefully  realizes  the  blessings 
of  the  present,  and  would  fain  believe 
that  "contentment  is  better  than  wealth," 
and  home  more  kindly  than  "  abroad." 

Not  that  in  imagination  he  does  not  see 

The  cloud-capped  towers,  the  gorgeous  pal 
aces, 
The  solemn  temples, 

which  he  would  dearly  like  to  view  in 
visible  presence;  not  that  he  would  not 
tread  with  reverent  awe  the  aisles  worn 
by  the  weary  feet  of  unnumbered  genera 
tions  seeking  a  disentanglement  of  the 
insoluble  riddle  of  life.  Not  that  he  dues 
not  esteem  a  certain  discontent  the  main- 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      215 

spring  of   progress,   and   the   hope   of   the 
race. 

But  to  the  beatific  vision  which  solicits 
him  with  beckoning  hand,  he  points  to  the 
unfinished  cottage  upon  the  hillside,  shows 
duties  to  be  performed,  and  obstacles  which 
cannot  be  surmounted.  And  accepting  the 
decree  of  the  gods,  he  looks  fondly  upon 
valley,  hills,  and  sky,  and  to  the  vision  he 
saith :  — 

Ask  me  no  more:  the  moon  may  draw  the 

sea; 
The  cloud  may  stoop  from  heaven  and  take 

the  shape, 

With  fold  to  fold,  of  mountain  or  of  cape  ; 

But,  O  too  fond,  when  have  I  answered  thee? 

Ask  me  no  more. 

AUGUST  4,  1894. 


21 6     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 


XLII. 

D  Sannenbaum,  D  Sannenbaum, 
SSte  treu  fmb  Seine  flatter. 

A  GOOD  straight  cedar  tree  stands  upon 
the  end  of  the  ridge-pole  of  the  cottage.  It 
was  planted  there  yesterday  afternoon  in 
token  of  the  fact  that  the  summit  had  been 
reached,  the  place  of  the  dividing  of  the 
waters,  not  the  sweet  vale  of  Avoca.  At 
length  the  bones  are  in  place,  and  ready  to 
be  clothed  upon  with  the  membranes  which 
are  to  give  a  seeming  of  continuity  and 
bodily  substance  to  the  structure. 

We  can  now  see  the  outline,  in  its  general 
character,  and  are  able  to  judge  as  to  its  fit 
ness  for  the  location,  and  are  called  upon 
to  decide  whether  the  building  improves  or 
desecrates  the  position  which  it  occupies. 
I  fear  that  this  is  a  consideration  all  too 
seldom  taken  into  account.  In  this  instance, 
so  far  as  expressed,  opinions  coincide,  and 
for  myself  I  am  quite  content.  Nature  takes 
kindly  to  her  bosom  the  newcomer,  which 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.     217 

seems  at  the  beginning  in  good  measure  a 
real  part  of  herself,  not  a  jarring  note :  prom 
ising  to  become  rapidly  a  true  flower  of  the 
landscape,  and  not  a  blot  upon  it,  as  I  am 
afraid  that  the  majority  of  American  houses 
are. 

And  speaking  of  flowers,  I  wish  that  you 
could  see  the  glory  in  lace  and  purple  and 
gold  of  my  pasture,  which  I  look  down  upon 
between  the  unclothed  ribs  of  the  building. 
Upon  the  upper  portion,  near  the  woods,  a 
great  bed  of  the  richly-hued  ironweed  ex- 
ceecjs  in  beauty,  I  think,  any  that  I  ever 
saw  before,  while  mingled  somewhat  with 
it  and  spread  more  fully  over  the  body 
of  the  field,  the  wild  carrot  lifts  its  stately 
jewels,  and  the  golden-rod  is  beginning  to 
hang  out  its  graceful  plumes.  In  the  marsh 
at  the  foot  the  intense  green  is  beginning  to 
be  sprinkled  with  the  white  flowers  of  the 
sagittaria  and  the  grass  of  Parnassus,  while 
the  wild  clematis  twines  gracefully  over  the 
heaps  of  stones,  and  the  rich  clusters  of  the 
elderberries  hang  nodding  in  the  hedge 
rows.  The  rose-hips  are  beginning  to  show 
an  orange  tinge,  and  here  and  there  over 
the  slope  dark  young  cedars  lift  themselves 
above  the  tall  "  weeds  "  and  grass. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  house,  the  umlu- 


21 8     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

lating  mountain  meadow  is  being  ploughed 
up  after  many  years'  rest,  shortly  to  be 
seeded  down  again  to  grass  for  firm  sod  and 
mowing.  If  all  goes  well,  I  should  next  June 
look  from  the  triple  window  in  my  living 
room  across  a  smooth,  unbroken  sea  of  wav 
ing  spires  to  the  line  of  the  southern  hills, 
cut  only  by  the  elm  and  locust  trees  upon 
the  roadside  five  hundred  feet  away. 

The  katydids  are  here.  Only  for  two 
evenings  have  I  noticed  them,  but  during 
those  two,  they  have  filled  the  air  with  the 
iteration  of  their  calls.  With  the  same  per 
sistence  as  a  year  ago,  they  keep  up  the 
charge  and  denial,  appearing  in  fact  to  have 
gained  force  and  volume  during  the  year 
that  has  passed. 

The  days  grow  shorter,  and  it  seems  as  if 
the  fall  were  fast  approaching.  The  sky 
is  overcast,  and  after  the  heat  of  July  the 
air  seems  chill,  and  a  grateful  fire  smoulders 
upon  the  hearth  at  the  inn.  But  the  burn 
ing  sun  will  doubtless  scorch  us  yet  for 
many  days,  ere  the  woods  turn  scarlet  and 
brown  and  gold,  and  the  wanderers  return 
from  their  journeyings. 

AUGUST  12,  1894. 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     21 9 


XLIII. 

HAS  it  ever  occurred  to  you  how  purely 
conventional,  arbitrary,  and  false  are  our 
ordinary  views  of  business  and  occupation  ? 
I  will  not  say  that  the  money  test  is  the  sole 
one  which  is  applied,  but  those  which  sup 
plement  it  are  usually  much  of  the  same 
character.  Undoubtedly  the  first  consider 
ation  for  all,  is  the  maintenance  of  life,  for, 
as  it  is  held  on  the  border  that  the  only 
:;nod  Indian  is  a  dead  Indian,  so  c  converso, 
it  is  felt,  I  suppose,  by  each  of  us,  that  we 
can  lie  of  precious  little  service  unless  we 
are  alive.  Of  course,  in  the  case  of  many, 
this  impression  could  be  effectually  con 
tested,  and  of  such  it  could  be  proved  that 
nothing  in  their  lives  became  them  so  well 
as  would  their  leaving  of  them.  But  speak 
ing  generally,  the  keeping  of  the  breath  in 
the  body  is  the  primary  object  of  each,  and 
the  effort  to  do  this  accounts  in  a  large 
measure  for  the  subserviency  in  a  mercan 
tile  world  to  the  test  referred  to.  I  was  led 
to  reflect  upon  this  subject  at  the  moment 


220     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

by  recalling  what  a  vast  number  of  persons 
there  are,  especially  in  the  cities,  who,  hav 
ing  already  acquired  sufficient  means  for  a 
comfortable  livelihood  for  themselves  and 
their  families,  and  having  no  great  taste  for 
the  spectacular  in  living,  or  enjoyment  in  it, 
yet  keep  on  from  year  to  year  in  the  old 
tread-mill  round,  because  they  or  their 
friends  think  that  they  ought  not  to  "re 
tire  from  business."  Some  of  them  are 
old,  some  middle-aged,  and  some  are  young. 
Some  have  inherited  a  comfortable  compe 
tency  and  never  have  needed  to  earn  money. 
But  they  must  continue  in  "business"; 
they  are  too  young  to  "retire."  It  does 
not  seem  to  make  any  difference  what  the 
business  is.  It  may  be  useful,  it  may  be  in 
different,  it  may  be  positively  harmful  to  the 
community,  —  still  it  is  business.  It  may  be 
something  which  no  one  else  could  do  so 
well,  or  something  requiring  a  capacity  pos 
sessed  by  those  of  whom  ' '  the  woods  are 
full,"  who  are  only  waiting  for  a  break  in 
the  line  to  rush  into  the  place. 

Without  entering  upon  the  question  of 
the  relative  importance  of  necessaries  and 
luxuries,  which  in  its  essence  is  largely  a 
question  of  tastes  and  desires  sound  in 
themselves,  and  of  a  breadth  or  narrowness 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     221 

of  view  as  to  what  a  well-developed,  well- 
rounded  life  requires  —  it  may  safely  be  said 
that  a  very  large  percentage  of  the  business 
of  the  world  is  deleterious  to  its  welfare, 
and  detrimental  to  the  progress  of  the  race  ; 
that  those  engaged  in  such  business,  which 
may  be  their  sole,  or  only  a  part  of  their 
occupation,  are  stumbling-blocks  in  the 
upward  march.  It  is  hardly  necessary  to 
particularize  ;  in  some  directions  each  will 
involuntarily  draw  a  line  under  certain 
familiar  occupations.  But  leaving  aside 
the  obvious  instances,  it  is  sufficient  to 
touch  lightly  only  one  or  two  spots,  to  show 
what  I  mean.  I  suppose  that  there  are  very 
few  thoughtful,  intelligent  men  even  in  the 
journalistic  fraternity  itself,  who  would  not 
agree  that  it  would  be  better  that  a  vast 
proportion  of  all  the  work  done  in  connec 
tion  with  the  newspaper  press,  by  editors, 
reporters,  telegraph  operators,  compositors, 
printers'  devils,  distributors,  in  short,  by  all 
hands,  should  be  left  undone  ;  that  if  such 
were  the  case  the  world  would  be  richer, 
wiser,  and  saner  than  it  is  to-day.  So  like 
wise  with  the  general  publishing  business, 
though  possibly,  probably,  not  to  so  large  a 
degree.  The  same  may  be  said,  mutatis 
mutandis,  of  many  other  occupations.  Yet 


222     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

all  these  things  are  business,  and  so  long  as 
a  man  is  engaged  in  any  one  of  them,  he  is 
popularly  supposed  to  be  a  useful  member 
of  society,  while  if  he  has  "retired,"  he 
has  ceased  to  be  such,  and  has  become 
as  it  were  simply  as  a  "  fifth  wheel  to  a 
coach." 

Now,  in  the  last  analysis,  nothing  could 
be  more  absurd  than  this.  The  only  solid 
basis  which  the  idea  rests  upon,  is  just  the 
one  which,  practically,  is  wholly  left  out 
of  the  account.  That  is,  that  in  a  social 
world,  each  should  do  a  portion  of  the 
world's  necessary  work,  and  this  according 
to  his  ability  to  do  it,  and  not  necessarily 
for  pay,  or  because  he  needs  the  pay  which 
may  be  given  for  it.  If  the  work  which  he 
does  is  not  a  part  of  the  work  which  helps 
the  world  along,  it  is  useless  work,  however 
much  he  may  be  paid  for  it ;  and  if  the 
work  is  something  which  does  help  the  world 
along,  even  in  the  least  degree,  it  is  part  of 
the  true  world's  work,  even  if  it  be  any 
thing  but  what  is  ordinarily  called  business, 
.and  even  if  the  suggestion  that  it  had  a 
money  value  would  excite  a  shout  of  deris 
ion  from  the  thoughtless  all  over  the  land. 
Indeed,  it  might  belong  in  one  of  these 
categories  and  yet  be  absolutely  priceless. 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     2?3 

As  an  unmistakable  example  of  what  I 
mean,  to  put  an  extreme  case  and  yet  an 
impregnable  one,  I  should  say  that  he  or 
she  who  can  by  spirit  and  demeanour  bring 
a  warm  throb  to  the  heart  and  a  tremulous 
smile  to  the  lips  of  those  sad  or  crusty  ones 
who  are^  met  in  the  course  of  the  day,  is 
one  whose  price  is  above  rubies. 

Now  be  it  remembered  that  I  am  speak 
ing  of  those  who  do  not  need  to  toil  to 
earn  a  subsistence  or  comforts,  but  who 
still  remain  in  the  familiar  harness,  and 
their  name  may  be  said  to  be  legion.  It  is 
fair  to  assume  that  a  large  proportion  of 
them  are  engaged  in  fairly  useful  employ 
ments.  In  the  case  of  most  of  these,  should 
they  leave  their  present  occupations,  their 
places  would  be  immediately  filled  by  the 
pressure  from  below,  the  world's  work 
would  go  on  as  well  as  ever,  and  many 
would  be  benefited.  Are  they  then  to  do 
nothing  ?  Not  so.  The  world  has  enough 
work  for  all  hands  to  do,  and  the  farthest 
vision  cannot  see  a  state  where  the  same 
may  not  truly  be  said.  As  society  is  organ 
ized,  it  is  impossible  to  place  a  money  value 
upon  much  of  this  work,  which  is  of  the 
most  necessary  character,  and  if  it  is  to  be 
done  well,  it  must  be  done  gratuitously  or 


224     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

without  a  material  return  by  those  whose 
hearts  are  in  it.  Much  time  cannot  be 
given  it  by  those  who  are  engaged  in  busi 
ness,  because  in  business  the  rules  require 
the  rigour  of  the  game,  and  inattention  to 
these  rules  very  surely  must  be  followed 
by  its  loss.  It  is  therefore  peculiarly  the 
work  for  those  from  whom  the  burden  of 
care  for  their  personal  future  has  been 
removed. 

The  most  obvious  side  of  the  work  to 
which  I  allude  is  the  work  which  concerns 
the  public  welfare,  and  this  has  many 
branches  ;  the  next  is  that  which  concerns 
those  individuals  who  have  in  a  certain 
sense  been  forgotten.  In  each  direction  the 
field  is  so  broad  as  to  leave  room  for  the  im 
agination  to  expand  indefinitely,  and  I 
might  leave  it  to  each  to  follow  out  for  him 
self  the  thread  of  thought  suggested,  in  the 
direction  most  congenial  to  him.  Perhaps  I 
may  feel  moved  to  indicate  some  special 
lines  of  activity  and  helpfulness  which 
come  into  my  view.  15ut  does  it  not  ap 
pear  to  you  that  the  world  might  soon  be 
a  very  different  world  from  the  one  we 
know,  if  an  earnest  effort  should  be  made 
in  the  direction  which  I  have  indicated  ? 
And  remember  that  1  am  not  suggesting 


FROM    A    NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      225 

a  distasteful,  laborious  change  of  occupa 
tion,  but  a  choice  of  activity  upon  congenial 
lines.  As  I  said  some  time  ago,  find  out 
in  which  way  the  eternal  stream  is  flowing, 
and  row  with  the  current. 

AUGUST  12,  1894. 


226     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 


XLIV. 

THE  day  is  warm,  and  it  is  a  trial  to  walk 
along  the  hot  and  dusty  road  ;  the  distant 
hills  float  and  fade  in  the  soft  haze ;  but 
sitting  here  at  the  carpenter's  bench  in 
my  bay  window  and  looking  southward,  a 
refreshing  breeze  tempers  the  heat,  and 
though  the  currents  in  the  fervid  air  rising 
from  the  newly  ploughed  field  cause  a 
flickering  in  the  outlines  of  objects  near  the 
surface,  suggestive  of  a  seven-tiines-heated 
furnace,  at  a  little  greater  height  and  dis 
tance  the  finger-like  motions  to  and  fro  of 
the  pendulous  branches  of  slender  elms,  and 
the  multitudinous  ripple  on  the  surface  of 
dense  maples  and  velvety  locust  trees,  give 
a  sense  of  life  and  healthfulness.  Here  and 
there  the  tops  of  chokccherries  and  other 
shrubs  peering  above  the  curve  of  the  roll 
ing  field,  and  now  and  then  the  upper  rail 
and  the  posts  of  a  few  panels  of  fence, 
indicate  the  line  of  the  highway,  but,  for 
tunately,  no  unsightly  telegraph  poles 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     227 

break  the  line  of  the  horizon  or  otherwise 
destroy  the  unity  and  beauty  of  the  scene. 
I  wonder  if  Jeremiah  was  considered  a 
common  scold.  I  think  that  the  avocation 
of  a  common  scold  must  be  classed  among 
the  most  praiseworthy.  That  is,  if  it  be 
possible  by  any  means  to  awaken  the  aes 
thetic  sense  in  a  people  given  over  to  a 
crass  barbarism.  This  morning  I  walked 
for  a  mile  or  so  along  the  highway,  from 
which  almost  anywhere,  excepting  where 
recent  grading  had  shut  it  in  between  high 
banks,  an  outlook  could  be  had  upon  scenes 
beautiful  enough  to  shame  any  but  the 
most  callous.  Along  the  way,  sometimes 
together  and  sometimes  opposed  to  each 
other,  ran  two  lines  of  telegraph  poles, 
rough,  bare,  crooked  trunks,  carrying  nu 
merous  wires,  and  to  these  has  been  added 
another  row  for  the  trolley  system,  carry 
ing  two  great  cables  in  addition  to  the 
bright  copper  conducting  wire.  The  incon 
gruity  with  the  landscape  was  shocking, 
the  disfigurement  atrocious.  And  the  road 
itself  had  a  bed  formed  of  imperfect  or  dis 
integrating  red  sandstone,  a  sort  of  hard- 
pan,  rough  and  yet  dusty,  with  irregularly 
gashed  banks,  and  no  footway  on  either 
side.  Is  this  worthy  of  a  civilized  people  ? 


228     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

I  remember  reading  somewhere  an  article 
in  which  the  writer  accounted  for  the  small 
amount  of  walking  done  by  our  people,  by 
the  absence  of  good  footpaths  along  our 
roads  and  through  our  fields.  And,  inade 
quate  as  the  reason  may  appear  to  some  of 
us,  who  were  born  with  legs  and  were  taught 
in  childhood  how  to  use  them,  it  is  a  reason 
which  has  weight,  and  a  reason  which  should 
not  be  allowed  to  exist.  The  fact  is  an  evi 
dence  of  our  imperfect  development,  but  it 
is  a  fact,  that  with  comparative  infrequency 
do  we  find  a  comfortable  path  along  any  of 
our  ordinary  country  roads.  lie  or  she  who 
goes  from  house  to  house  or  from  village  to 
village  on  foot,  which  most  have  to  do  at 
times,  and  all  ought  often  to  do,  is  compelled 
to  take  to  the  dusty  wagon  track,  or  to 
scramble  up  and  down  rough  banks  and 
among  the  vines  and  bushes  and  weeds. 
The  vines  and  bushes  and  weeds  are  not  to 
blame.  They  often  form  the  chief  beauty 
of  the  roadside,  until  some  enterprising  far 
mer  or  road  mender  comes  along  and  cuts 
and  hacks  until  he  has  left  nothing  but  a 
barren  waste,  naught  but  short  stumps  pro 
jecting  above  prostrate  saplings  and  seed 
lings,  upon  which  the  unripe  leaves  wilt  and 
turn  brown  and  rattle  in  the  hot  wind. 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      229 

No,  we  do  not  need  that  the  rich  growth 
of  the  roadside  should  be  shorn  away,  or 
that  the  banks  should  be  graded  like  city 
sidewalks  and  planked  or  paved.  What  we 
want  is  a  simple,  practicable  way  among  the 
bushes  beside  the  road  ;  so  located  as  to 
avoid  unnecessary  jumping  and  climbing, 
and  to  be  protected  from  washing  by 
storm  currents.  And  for  the  path  itself, 
the  foot  of  the  passer  may  be  relied  upon  in 
most  cases  to  establish  that,  provided  the 
way  be  given.  The  proverb  goes,  that  for 
him  who  wears  shoes  all  the  world  is  covered 
with  leather,  or  words  to  that  effect  ;  and 
this  leather,  or  even  bare  feet,  if  there  be 
enough  of  them,  will  soon  make  upon  a 
sound  sod  as  good  a  path  as  one  could  wish. 

So  much  for  the  highways  ;  but  should 
we  always  be  confined  to  these  ?  A  man's 
house  is,  and  undoubtedly  should  be,  his 
castle,  and  undoubtedly  each  has  a  right  to 
insist  upon  his  own  privacy.  But  this  right 
has  its  limitations.  I  always  resent  the  pla 
carding  of  large  tracts  with  "Trespassing 
forbidden,"  when  merely  walking  over  the 
fields  is  assumed  to  be  trespass.  At  many 
points  along  the  seashore  now,  it  is  almost 
impossible  for  the  stranger  to  dip  his  hand 
into  the  salt  sea  waves,  or  even  to  come  into 


230     FROM   A    N7E\V   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

plain  sight  of  the  mighty  deep.  And  in 
some  of  our  inland  regions  it  is  almost  as 
bad,  or  it  would  be,  could  owners  accom 
plish  what  they  frequently  attempt.  There 
is  something  very  human  in  the  old-world 
prescriptive  easements,  which  preserve  to 
the  public  the  right  of  way  over  private 
property  by  definite  paths.  How  vastly  the 
pleasure  of  country  saunterings  is  thereby 
increased,  to  say  nothing  of  the  convenience 
of  the  wayfarer  !  That  property  suffers  in 
any  way  thereby,  I  do  not  understand  to  be 
the  case.  I  have  been  interested  in  some 
discussion  in  "  Garden  and  Forest,"  of  the 
use  of  paths  versus  the  common  use  of  the 
meadows  in  public  parks.  I  am  strongly  of 
the  opinion  that  the  editor  is  right  in  the 
position  that  for  most  people  the  paths  to 
walk  upon,  and  the  sod  to  look  upon,  afford 
the  essentials  of  enjoyment.  Doubtless  all 
wish  occasionally  to  feel  the  turf  beneath 
them.  Doubtless  also  there  is  something  in 
individual  bent,  and  something  in  age  which 
must  be  considered.  I  note  that  for  myself, 
I  keep  more  to  the  beaten  paths  than  I  used 
to  do.  It  is  said  that  with  advancing  years 
there  is  a  more  and  more  pronounced  lack 
of  the  earlier  flexibility  in  the  joints.  But 
how  should  ice  know  ? 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     23! 

Be  that  as  it  may,  I  am  sure  that  a 
proper  provision  of  paths  through  private 
lands,  with  turnstiles,  gates,  or  bars  where 
necessary,  would  contribute  vastly  to  the 
comfort  and  enjoyment  of  the  public,  and 
would  not  be  to  the  detriment  of  the  private 
owners.  I  am  strongly  inclined  to  believe 
that  we  should  be  better  off,  if  the  right  to 
use  such  paths  should  inure  to  the  public  as 
an  indefeasible  right,  as  in  the  cases  that 
I  have  mentioned ;  but  without  insisting 
upon  this,  it  is  quite  safe  to  say,  that  he 
who  offers  to  his  neighbours  the  privilege 
of  such  enjoyment  of  his  domain,  shows 
that  so  far  forth,  at  least,  he  has  become  a 
civilized  man. 

AUGUST  19,  18<J4. 


232     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 


XLV. 

A  SHORT  time  ago  I  had  something  to  say 
upon  the  matter  of  population,  and  the 
assumed  value  of  a  dense  population,  a  most 
singular  and  elaborate  piece  of  self-decep 
tion.  It  is,  I  suppose,  a  natural,  though 
even  in  that  case,  a  questionable  policy, 
which  animates  the  West  in  encouraging 
immigration,  for  with  native  resources 
greatly  in  excess  of  the  demands  upon 
them,  a  greater  density  in  population  may 
aid  in  promoting  prosperity  and  physical 
—  in  some  cases  even  mental  and  spirit 
ual,  well-being.  But  in  the  more  fully  occu 
pied  Eastern  states  this  is  much  more 
rarely  the  case  :  in  many  places  it  is  not  so 
in  any  sense,  and  in  the  cities  the  contrary 
is  so,  with  great  emphasis.  The  tendency 
to  congregate  in  the  cities  is  notorious,  and 
this  makes  our  municipal  problems  the  most 
serious  with  which  we  have  to  deal. 

There  has  been  in  the  past  much  contro 
versy  over  the  contention  of  Malthus  that 
population  tends  to  increase  with  greater 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     233 

rapidity  than  material  resources  ;  yet  I  can 
not  see  but  that  in  its  essence  it  is  impreg 
nable.  The  tendency  is  practically  more  or 
less  held  in  check,  but  mainly  by  misery 
and  disease.  And  in  this  connection,  this 
is  to  be  noted  :  that  as  a  general  rule,  —  of 
course  with  numerous  exceptions,  —  the 
higher  in  the  grade  of  civilization,  the  fewer 
the  offspring,  —  the  lower,  the  more  prolific. 
The  consequences  of  this  tendency  are  most 
marked.  The  f requency  with  which  families 
which  have  been  publicly  known  for  several 
generations,  die  out  and  disappear,  is  noto 
rious.  The  small  number  of  individuals  in 
such  of  these  families  as  continue,  is  as 
familiar.  On  the  other  hand,  the  magni 
tude  of  the  families  of  those  who  have  small 
resources,  and  whose  demands,  though  con 
siderable,  are  within  a  narrow  range,  is 
patent  to  every  one.  There  is  a  constant 
tendency  in  our  society  to  die  at  the  top  — 
a  constant  tendency  toward  a  dominance  of 
the  lower  stratum,  which  tendency,  as  I  have 
before  said,  is  chiefly  checked  —  at  present 
—  by  misery  and  disease. 

There  are  several  manifest  causes  for 
this  condition  of  things,  and  perhaps  other 
causes  which  are  not  so  evident,  —  doubt 
less  some  which  we  do  not  recoiruize.  On 


234     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

the  part  of  the  well-to-do,  or  those  who 
make  similar  demands  upon  life  because 
of  the  character  of  their  education  or  for 
certain  social  reasons,  there  is  undoubtedly, 
in  the  first  place,  less  of  the  simply  animal  ; 
then  there  are  usually  much  later  mar 
riages  ;  and,  in  the  third  place,  there  is 
a  very  considerable  amount  of  deliberate 
prudence.  On  the  part  of  the  poor  and 
uneducated  on  the  other  hand,  there  is 
undoubtedly  greater  fecundity  accompany 
ing  a  closer  acclimation,  as  it  were,  to  the 
conditions  in  which  they  are  placed  ;  there 
are  much  earlier  marriages  ;  and  there  is 
apparently  no  restraint  at  all  upon  their 
numerous  increase :  with  each  one  it  is 
"  Happy  is  the  man  that  hath  his  quiver 
full,"  — 'Until  he  finds  that  in  his  case  the 
saying  should  read,  "  Unhappy  is  the 
man." 

Now  the  trouble  is  that  as  among  the 
thoughtless  poor,  only  necessity  restricts 
the  growth  of  population,  as  a  rule,  any 
sudden  development  of  prosperity  unac 
companied  by  a  significant  enlightenment, 
is  pretty  sure  to  be  followed  by  a  more 
rapid  increase  in  population,  and  therefore 
in  the  demands  upon  the  physical  resources. 
The  spasm  of  prosperity  dies  away  ;  the 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     235 

increased  population  is  left  to  struggle  for 
subsistence,  with  diminished  means. 

The  most  acute  investigators,  especially 
in  the  great  cities,  and  notably  in  London, 
have  found  no  question  half  so  difficult  to 
deal  with  as  this.  Penniless  boys  marry 
before  they  can  earn  a  livelihood  for  them 
selves,  and  the  most  unsavoury  and  un 
wholesome  dens  teem  like  ant-hills.  What 
is  to  be  done  about  it  ?  Well,  it  is  hard  to 
say  what  can  be  done  about  it,  farther  than 
to  use  every  effort  to  destroy  this  wild  the 
ory  of  which  I  have  been  writing,  that  a 
numerous  population  is  a  good  thing  in 
itself,  and  to  instil  into  the  minds  of  the 
struggling  poor  the  importance  of  self- 
control  and  later  marriages. 

We  have  heard  a  good  deal  of  the  efforts 
of  the  Anti  Poverty  Society  in  New  York, 
—  a  crusade  as  absurd  and  as  futile  in  the 
manner  in  which  it  was  undertaken  as  any 
thing  ever  devised  by  Don  Quixote.  I  am 
not  sure  that  in  the  present  prosperous  con 
dition  of  the  world  (I»do  riot  mean  prosper 
ous  condition  of  "  business  "  ;  "  business  " 
is  not  prosperous)  there  is  any  necessity  for 
poverty.  I  am  sure  that,  if  the  age  at 
marriage  could  be  raised  by  ten  years 
among  the  very  poor  and  the  people  of 


236     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

moderate  means,  and  the  number  of  chil 
dren  hereafter  born  decreased  by  one-half, 
there  would  no  longer  be  any  necessity  for 
poverty,  excepting  on  the  ground  of  gross 
incapacity  ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  within  a 
generation  the  "  workingman  "  would  find 
prosperity  at  his  beck  and  call. 

AUGUST  19,  1894. 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     237 


XLVI. 

I  SEE  that  Lord  Salisbury,  in  his  address 
as  president  before  the  British  Association 
for  the  Advancement  of  Science,  takes  occa 
sion  to  speak  at  length  of  the  things  which 
we  do  not  know, — a  very  wholesome  re 
minder,  and  much  needed  by  many  people. 
I  fear  that  the  rapid  discovery  of  details  in 
regard  to  methods  of  growth  and  develop 
ment,  during  late  years,  has  produced  an 
undue  feeling  of  extensive  and  comprehen 
sive  and  commanding  knowledge  on  the 
part  of  the  unthinking,  not  at  all  allied  to  a 
cautious  modesty.  These  things  are  enor 
mously  interesting  and  important,  and  it  is  a 
source  of  great  regret  to  me  to  find  so  many 
people  whose  eyes  have  not  been  opened  to 
them,  and  whose  time  occasionally  hangs 
heavy  on  their  hands  —  time  which,  under 
other  circumstances,  would  be  filled  to  re 
pletion  with  the  joy  of  living  and  knowing. 

But,  after  all,  the  startling,  the  appalling 
thing  is,  not  the  extent  of  what  we  know, 
but  the  extent  of  that  which  we  do  not 


238     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

know.  I  find  "  I  don't  know"  the  house 
hold  words  most  familiar  in  my  mouth. 
"  As  our  little  lite  is  rounded  with  a  sleep," 
so  our  little  knowledge  is  rounded  with  an 
illimitable  ocean  of  nescience.  Moreover, 
it  is  well  to  remember  that  much  of  that 
which  we  call  knowledge,  much  of  that 
which  is  classed  as  "science"  to-day,  is 
here  and  there  founded  upon  hypotheses, 
admirable  for  a  working  basis,  but  subject 
to  modification,  or  rejection,  as  investiga 
tion  progresses.  For  many  people  it  is  very 
difficult  to  remember  this,  and  they  are 
apt  to  talk  and  act  as  if  there  were  con 
ditions  of  positiveness  about  that  which 
is  oftentimes  merely  tentative.  So  long 
as  a  theory  will  explain  all  the  known 
facts,  it  is  a  good  theory  ;  the  moment  a 
discovery  is  made  of  something  for  which 
it  does  not  account,  it  falls  to  pieces  like 
a  house  of  cards.  And  our  knowledge,  so 
far  as  we  have  it,  is  relative  :  this,  that,  and 
the  other,  stand  in  a  certain  proportion  and 
connection  with  each  other  ;  beyond  is  the 
infinite  gulf,  —  we  are  suspended  in  mid 
air.  For  the  ancients,  the  world  rested 
upon  the  back  of  an  elephant,  and  the  ele 
phant  stood  upon  a  tortoise  :  the  tortoise 
upon  what  ? 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.     239 

To-day,  our  notions  are  clearer,  but  we 
are  met  by  precisely  the  same  problem, 
and  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  we  shall 
be  so  met  forever.  We  no  longer  think 
of  the  elephant  and  the  tortoise,  but  of  the 
globe  swinging  in  ether,  with  innumerable 
other  globes,  bound  together  and  kept 
apart  by  the  attraction  of  gravitation  and 
certain  specified  motions.  But,  as  Lord 
Salisbury  says,  what  is  the  ether  ?  and 
also  what  is  gravitation,  and  what  is  be 
yond  the  limits  of  the  myriad  orbs  ? 

Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  that  the  ultimate 
things,  the  only  things  which  are  impregna 
ble  facts,  the  things  that  must  be,  are  for  the 
human  mind,  unthinkable,  or  inconceivable, 
except  as  a  form  of  words  ?  It  has  been 
customary  to  criticise  severely  the  attitude 
of  mind  of  him  who  says,  "I  believe,  be 
cause  it  is  impossible,"  and  I  wholly  agree 
with  the  ordinary  application  of  this  criti 
cism.  And  yet,  after  all,  the  greatest  things, 
the  outlying  and  unalterable  facts,  which  are 
not  affected  by  hypothesis,  and  which  we 
are  bound  to  accept,  are  impossible,  in  our 
thought.  Take,  for  example,  two  of  the  most 
important,  time  and  space.  There  are,  so 
far  as  I  can  conceive,  but  two  alternatives 
in  regard  to  each  of  these.  Either  there 


240     FROM    A   NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

was  a  beginning  of  time,  or  there  was  no 
beginning ;  either  there  will  be  an  end  of 
time,  or  there  will  be  no  end.  So  with 
space  :  either  there  is  a  point  beyond  which 
there  is  nothing  —  not  even  vacancy  —  or 
there  is  no  such  point. 

Now  our  rninds  refuse  to  accept  either 
time  or  space  with  a  limit  beyond  which  it 
does  not  extend.  They  ask  forever,  What 
is  beyond  ?  In  like  manner,  they  refuse 
to  accept  anything  which  is  interminable. 
Even  a  future  state  of  existence,  which  goes 
on  and  on,  and  yet  again  on,  becomes  a 
horror  to  thought,  if  dwelt  upon,  not  only 
because  the  feeling  of  change  and  rest  is 
sweet,  but  because  we  are  bound  to  ask, 
When  will  the  end  come  ?  And  what  conies 
after  the  end  ?  We  look  into  space  and  can 
neither  imagine  a  limit  beyond  which  the  line 
cannot  extend,  nor  can  we  imagine  unlimited 
extension  of  the  line.  Why,  then,  do  we 
properly  feel  satisfied  that  certain  things  are 
facts,  and  chide  him  who  says,  "  I  believe, 
because  it  is  impossible"  ?  Because  in  the 
field  of  relative  knowledge  which  we  have 
investigated,  we  have  accumulated  a  vast 
hoard  of  antecedents  and  consequents,  which 
we  have  formulated  into  what  we  call  laws 
of  nature,  and  it  is  in  this  field  that  we  are 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     241 

most  apt  to  find  the  loose  thinking  and 
superstition  which  we  are  compelled  to  crit 
icise.  But  here  again  caution  is  most  com 
mendable.  A  law  of  man  is  a  rule  imposed 
from  without.  A  law  of  nature  is  simply 
our  formulation  of  the  order  of  events  as  we 
find  them  in  nature.  The  evidence  at  our 
disposal  may  be  little,  or  it  may  be  great; 
the  law  may  be  firmly  established  by  an 
invariable  sequence  of  occurrences  through 
the  course  of  ages,  or  it  may  depend  upon 
a  few  observations  within  a  limited  field,  and 
may  be  subject  to  modifications  upon  fuller 
and  more  extensive  observation.  Andrew 
Lang  and  Professor  Huxley  seem  to  have 
come  into  collision  in  a  case  of  this  kind, 
and  we  cannot  but  feel  that  in  this  case  the 
literary  man  lias,  in  a  degree,  the  better  of 
the  scientific  man,  in  that  his  attitude  of 
mind  under  the  circumstances  is  more  in 
accordance  with  the  temper  of  a  philosophic 
investigator,  however  ignorant  he  may  be  as 
compared  with  his  opponent  relative  to  the 
matter  in  hand. 

There  are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth, 

Horatio, 
Thau  are  dreamt  of  in  your  philosophy. 

Professor  Huxley  seems  to  have  forgotten 


242     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

for  the  moment  what  was  clear  to  the  poet, 
and  seems  to  an  outsider  to  exhibit  a  little 
too  much  cocksureness. 

The  prevailing  philosophy  of  the  time  is 
the  evolution  philosophy  of  Herbert  Spen 
cer,  brilliantly  illustrated,  in  a  part  of  its 
field,  by  the  observations  and  demonstra 
tions  of  Charles  Darwin  upon  biological 
questions  in  regard  to  the  origin  and  devel 
opment  of  species.  Mr.  Spencer's  theory 
harmonizes  with  the  great  mass  of  facts 
which  have  been  accumulated  through  the 
ages,  and  the  grasp  of  his  mind  is  so  great, 
and  the  extent  of  his  labours  has  been  so 
enormous,  that  he  has  compelled  the  admi 
ration  and  enthusiastic  devotion  of  a  large 
number  of  our  scientific  men.  You  remem 
ber  what  Matthew  Prior  says :  — 

Be  to  her  virtues  very  kind  ; 
Be  to  her  faults  a  little  blind. 

This  we  are  bound  to  do  in  regard  to  Mr. 
Spencer,  but,  on  the  other  hand,  we  ought 
to  remember  that  in  the  nature  of  things,  a 
stupendous  work  such  as  that  which  Mr. 
Spencer  is  engaged  upon  is  bound  to  con 
tain  errors,  and  the  ready  recognition  of 
this  fact  would  be  a  safer  attitude  on  the 
part  of  those  of  us  who  feel  ourselves  his 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAN7D    HILLSIDE.     243 

disciples,  rather  than  an  unquestioning 
acceptance  of  everything  that  he  writes. 
Moreover,  may  I  not  as  a  Spencerian  pupil 
safely  say  that  it  is  too  early  to  claim  more, 
for  much  of  Mr.  Spencer's  philosophy,  than 
that  it  is  a  good,  an  admirable  working 
hypothesis,  but  still  an  hypothesis  ?  For 
myself,  I  may  say  that  it  is  the  grandest 
that  ever  opened  before  my  vision,  and  that 
it  tills  my  mind  and  heart  with  an  awe  and 
a  reverence  for  the  all-comprehending,  all- 
inspiring  mystic  essence  which  is  at  the 
heart  of  things,  which  are  unspeakable. 
But  it  is  this  incomprehensible  mystery, 

A  motion  and  a  spirit,  that  impels 

All  thinking  things,  all  objects  of  all  thought, 

And  rolls  through  all  things, 

that  is  the  final  incontrovertible  fact,  not 
anything  hitherto  formulated  regarding  it. 

SEPTEMBER  2,  1894, 


244     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 


XL  VII. 

Iv  one  of  my  earlier  notes  I  referred  to 

those  who  refuse  to  interest  themselves  in 
the  details  of  the  structure  and  life  of  plants 
and  other  objects  about  them,  and  quietly 
scoffed  at  their  apparent  fear  lest  the  mys 
tery  of  life  should  be  wholly  explained,  and 
nothing  be  left  to  wonder  at  or  reverence. 
And  I  have  just  enforced  this  thought  at 
greater  length,  and  tried  to  show  that  at  the 
best  we  are  but  as  bits  of  floating  down,  sur 
rounded  by  an  unfathomable  and  incompre 
hensible  immensity. 

Yet  for  the  practical  man  of  affairs,  and 
woman  of  society  whose  attention  has  not 
been  drawn  to  the  larger  questions,  but 
who  have  been  alive  to  the  surface  changes, 
there  is  a  certain  partial  excuse  for  this 
attitude  of  mind  in  the  events  of  the  past 
century,  and  especially  of  the  past  fifty 
years. 

The  material  progress  of  the  world  since 
the  close  of  the  American  and  the  French 
revolutions,  the  development  of  invention 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     245 

with  the  resulting  changes  in  methods  and 
manner  of  living  and  extent  of  intercourse, 
the  close  observation  of  occurrences  and 
the  analysis  of  processes,  the  co-ordination 
of  the  results  of  this  observation  and  analy 
sis,  and  the  deductions  therefrom,  have 
combined  to  make  an  era  unique  in  the 
world's  history,  and  which  we  cannot  im 
agine  as  continuing  at  the  same  rate  of 
progress  for  another  hundred  years,  without 
something  akin  to  vertigo. 

This  is  the  fin  de  siecle /  and  I  suppose 
that  we  are  all  its  children,  with  all  that 
that  implies.  The  year  1900  is  close  upon 
us.  It  is  a  pertinent  inquiry,  therefore, 
what  the  twentieth  century  will  bring  to 
us.  Will  our  great  cities  increase  in  the 
next  hundred  years  in  the  same  ratio  as  in 
the  past ;  and  will  the  enemies  of  private 
ownership  of  land  have  succeeded  in  what 
seems  to  be  their  darling  project,  —  in  so 
controlling  public  affairs  as  to  induce  the 
building  over  of  all  the  breathing-places  in 
these  cities,  so  far  happily  kept  out  of  the 
market  ?  If  so,  we  must  be  prepared  for 
a  great  cockney  population,  whose  sole 
knowledge  of  the  country  and  of  plant  life, 
if  they  be  readers,  will  be  drawn  from 
history  and  current  literature,  and  if  they 


246     FROM    A   NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

be  of  the  class  of  non-readers,  which  class 
such  a  life  must  largely  increase,  must  be 
derived  from  the  clothes  poles  with  pulleys 
in  back  yards,  surrounded  by  ragged  walls, 
with  purslane  and  plantains  scattered  over 
the  ground  between,  or  from  the  wilted 
vegetables  at  the  corner  grocery. 

Another  hundred  years  of  manufactur 
ing  at  the  present  rate  of  development, 
according  to  careful  computers,  will  ex 
haust  the  supply  of  coal  available  at  any 
reasonable  cost,  and  a  much  shorter  period, 
the  valuable  timber.  One  of  three  things : 
either  the  rate  of  development  must  greatly 
diminish,  or  second,  our  manufactories  and 
our  railroads  must  come  to  a  halt,  or  third, 
some  form  of  power  now  unused,  or  used 
but  to  a  small  extent,  must  take  the  place 
of  that  now  derived  from  the  consumption 
of  coal  and  wood. 

There  are  three  great  storehouses  still  at 
our  disposal,  and  largely  unused  :  that  of 
the  sun,  that  of  the  air,  and  that  of  the 
water.  Ericsson  experimented  with  the 
first  with  great  burning  glasses,  with  inde 
terminate,  though,  I  think,  rather  hope 
ful  results.  The  probability  of  success  in 
this  direction  depends  largely  upon  the 
period  of  the  year,  and  upon  the  climate. 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     247 

Success  is  most  likely  in  the  tropics,  though 
I  think  Uuderledge  would  have  afforded  an 
especially  promising  field  during  the  past 
summer. 

The  wind  has,  in  one  way  or  other,  been 
harnessed  to  the  chariot  of  progress  since 
the  earliest  time  upon  the  sea,  and  through 
many  generations  upon  the  land.  It  is  in 
the  latter  direction  that  we  must  expect 
most  progress  to  be  made  in  the  future. 
Let  us  hope  that  the  coming  windmill  will 
not  be  such  a  blot  upon  the  landscape  as 
those  with  which  we  have  been  afflicted 
during  the  past  half-century.  I  suppose 
that  we  cannot  expect  anything  so  pictur 
esque  as  the  old  mill  of  Holland. 

Lastly  we  come  to  the  water.  Probably 
the  waters  that  come  down  at  Lodore,  as 
well  as  those  of  Niagara,  the  falls  of  Min- 
nehaha  and  of  Montmorency,  and  all  the 
sublime  and  beautiful  torrents  that  have 
inspired  art  or  literature,  must  ultimately 
turn  some  one's  mill  wheel.  But  all  the 
power  of  the  accessible  streams  combined, 
is  of  small  account  when  compared  with 
that  stored  up  or  available  in  the  ocean 
tides.  Everywhere  upon  our  eastern  shore 
bears  the  mass  of  the  Atlantic.  On  the 
west  we  have  the  Pacific,  and  on  the  south 


248     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

the  Gulf  of  Mexico.  Four  times  each  day 
these  immense  bodies  of  water  are  pouring 
upon  us,  or  away  from  us,  as  the  sun  and 
the  moon  tug  at  the  earth  in  opposition  01 
together.  Here  are,  let  us  say,  more  than 
three  thousand  miles  of  coast-line,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  rivers  in  which  the  tide  rises 
and  falls,  upon  which  the  tides  move  with  a 
height  varying  from  a  few  inches  up  to  forty 
feet  or  more.  In  how  many  places  this 
power  is  now  used,  I  cannot  say  —  proba 
bly  but  few.  I  know  an  old  tide  mill  on 
Sheepshead  Bay,  on  the  south  shore  of  Long 
Island,  a  favourite  destination  for  a  canter 
or  trot  in  the  old  times,  which  always  inter 
ested  me  ;  but  it  is  the  only  one  I  ever  saw. 
Now,  that  either  or  all  three  of  these 
great  sources  of  power  can  be  drawn  upon 
to  an  enormous  extent  to  stimulate  elec 
trical  energy,  which  seems  likely  to  be  the 
immediate  agent  of  the  future  for  the  dis 
tribution  of  force,  I  take  it  that  there  can 
be  no  reasonable  doubt.  It  is  simply  a 
question  of  gearing  and  application,  a  mat 
ter  for  inventors  to  play  with,  and  the 
American  inventor  will  disappoint  just  ex 
pectation  if  he  does  not  succeed  in  sur 
mounting  the  difficulties  which  manifest 
themselves  at  the  outset. 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     249 

But  reliance  upon  either  of  these  sources 
rather  than  upon  fuel,  implies  great  changes 
in  methods,  —  I  hope  that  we  may  believe 
changes  for  the  better,  at  least  in  some 
respects.  Let  us  pray  that  it  may  produce 
a  tendency  toward  a  decentralization  of 
population,  and  this  we  have  a  right  to 
hope.  The  human  being  is  a  social  being, 
and  he  not  only  likes,  but  he  needs  society 
for  his  proper  development.  But  there  are 
degrees  of  intimacy,  different  grades  of 
nearness  in  social  relations,  as  there  are  in 
expressions  of  disapproval. 

Perhaps  it  was  right  to  dissemble  your  love, 
But  —  why  did  you  kick  me  dowu  stairs  1 

You  can  have  all  the  company  that  is 
good  for  you  without  continually  touching 
elbows  with  your  neighbours  upon  either 
side. 

The  question  of  the  extent  and  character 
of  the  mechanical  power  in  use,  is  one  of 
the  greatest  questions  affecting  mankind, 
as  I  have  heretofore  intimated,  and,  as  I 
have  ventured  also  to  assert,  its  increase 
is  not  an  unmixed  benefit.  I  can  imagine 
the  tone  of  the  race  as  becoming  higher, 
while  the  proportionate  weight  of  mechani 
cal  power  in  use  becomes  less,  although  I 


250     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

would  not  say  that  this  is  a  necessary  rela 
tion.  Human  development  depends  for 
the  most  part  upon  mental  stimulus,  and 
though  probably  greater  productiveness 
results  from  the  present  tendency  to  enor 
mous  aggregations  of  workers  under  com 
paratively  few  "  Captains  of  Industry,"  T 
question  whether  this  tendency  does  not 
check  mental  activity  with  many.  And 
mental  breadth  is  undoubtedly  circum 
scribed  by  too  great  a  division  of  labour. 
The  extent  to  which  this  is  now  carried  is 
astonishing,  and  I  was  much  struck  a  few 
days  ago  by  the  statement  made  to  me 
by  a  friend,  upon  his  return  from  one  of 
our  hill  towns,  of  the  manner  in  which  this 
has  even  affected  farmers  of  late  years, 
through  the  introduction  of  the  creamery 
and  other  establishments  and  methods  of 
co-operation.  The  saving  virtue  in  this 
particular  instance  is  the  enormous  relief 
afforded  to  the  housewife. 

I  find  that  I  have  been  beguiled  into  a 
consideration  especially  of  the  recent  and 
prospective  changes  in  material  conditions. 
But  these  are  closely  connected  with  revo 
lutionary  changes  in  theology,  philosophy, 
science,  and  art,  all  of  which  are  in  a  fer 
ment,  in  a  chaotic  condition,  which  forbids 


FROM   A    NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     251 

close  prophecy.  A  friend  recently  said  to 
ine  that  it  would  be  interesting  to  know 
what  we,  or  those  that  shall  follow  us,  will 
be  thinking,  fifty  or  sixty  years  hence.  It 
would  indeed  ;  but  a  thick  veil  shrouds  the 
future.  Probably  the  most  that  we  can 
say  is,  that  the  past,  and  many  of  the  ideas 
of  the  past,  are  gone,  and  forever.  The 
latter  were  legitimate  children  of  their  time, 
and  they  doubtless  served  their  purpose, 
but  they  are  out  of  key  with  our  larger 
view,  and  no  power  exists  by  which  they 
can  be  revivified.  We  seem  to  see  some 
stable  ground  emerging  from  the  troubled 
waters  of  the  present,  but  all  that  we  can 
certainly  say,  is,  that  whatever  of  vesture 
fades  and  vanishes,  the  eternal  verities 
remain  the  same  yesterday,  to-day,  and 
forever  ;  and  the  time-spirit  saitii :  — 

Here  at  the  whirring  loom  of  time  I  sit  and 

ply, 

And  weave  for  God  the  garment  thou  dost 
see  him  by. 

SEPTEMBER  2,  1894. 


252     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 


XL  VIII. 

Water,  water,  everywhere, 
Nor  any  drop  to  drink. 

IP  we  could  only  say  so  much  as  that, 
we  should  feel  fairly  well  pleased.  We 
remember  sympathetically  the  little  girl  in 
the  story,  who,  when  she  heard  that  some 
neighbours  had  no  bread  to  eat,  expressed 
her  wonder  that  they  did  not  then  eat  cake, 
and  we  should  try  to  get  along  bravely  with 
some  other  beverage.  But,  alas  !  it  is  not 
"  water,  water  everywhere."  A  month  ago 
I  recorded  a  refreshing  rain,  continuing  for 
several  hours,  and  I  congratulated  myself 
that  there  was  scarcely  a  physical  possibility 
that  we  should  have  it  so  dry  again  before 
the  time  of  frost.  But  since  then  the  drought 
has  once  more  settled  down  upon  us,  and  we 
have  not  had  enough  of  a  shower  to  lay  the 
dust.  In  the  morning  a  fog  covers  the  val 
ley,  and  during  the  day  a  canopy  of  smoke 
and  haze  covers  the  heavens,  through  which 
the  sun  sometimes  glows  like  a  ball  of  red- 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     253 

hot  iron,  at  which  one  can  look  without 
flinching. 

Only  once  has  the  smoke  fallen  low 
enough  for  me  to  perceive  its  odour,  and 
this  was  at  nightfall  a  few  days  ago,  as  I 
drove  over  the  hills  some  miles  to  the  west 
ward  of  the  village.  Yesterday  in  the  after 
noon,  I  suddenly  perceived  a  flame  on  the 
side  of  the  mountain  two  or  three  miles  to 
the  northeastward,  but  it  lasted  but  a  little 
while,  and  I  presume  was  looked  after  and 
taken  care  of  by  vigilant  watchers.  This 
afternoon  the  atmosphere  thickened  until 
the  sun  wholly  disappeared,  and  with  it 
most  of  the  landscape,  and  people  spoke  of 
the  famous  "yellow  day,"  although  the 
colour  was  not  so  marked  as  it  has  been  on 
two  or  three  occasions  during  the  past 
week  ;  but  the  barometer  is  high,  and 
mounts  steadily  higher. 

My  strawberry  plants,  which  took  a  good 
hold  on  the  earth,  are  dying  one  by  one, 
and  half  are  gone.  But  the  melons  seem 
to  revel  in  the  dry  soil  and  heavy  air,  from 
which  they  have  somehow  extracted  the 
most  delicious  juices,  while  my  tomatoes 
and  corn  and  potatoes  defy  competitors 
through  all  the  countryside.  It  should  be 
said,  however,  that  we  have  had  heavy  dews, 


254     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

and  I  suppose  that  this  accounts  for  the  veg 
etation  that  has  been  saved.  But  since  the 
sower  went  forth  to  sow  my  grass  field,  I 
desire  something  better. 

The  search  for  water  leads  me  to  the  well, 
and  this,  alas  !  is  still  marked  with  an  inter 
rogation  point.  The  permanent  pump  has 
been  put  in  place  and  finds  a  continuous 
supply.  But  the  supply,  though  gratefully 
cool  and  refreshing  to  the  taste,  has  still 
the  colour  of  cafe  au  lait,  and  seems  to 
promise  a  richness  which  is  uncalled  for. 
The  interesting  question  which  the  future 
is  asked  to  solve  is  whether  we  have  struck 
a  quicksand,  and  if  so,  whether  we  shall 
have  to  pump  out  a  deposit  of  some  thou 
sands  of  cubic  yards  before  we  attain  a  clear 
and  wholesome  beverage. 

Down  in  the  marsh  the  water  still  stands 
here  and  there  between  the  tussocks  of 
coarse  grass,  notwithstanding  the  long 
drought,  and  on  the  margin  of  the  meadow 
there  is  an  unmistakable  spring,  where  the 
frogs  make  merry.  In  an  experimental  way, 
therefore,  I  have  begun  digging,  with  the 
hope  of  forming  a  series  of  small  pools,  in 
which  pond  lilies  may  float,  while  cardinal 
flowers  and  marshmallows  and  other  deni 
zens  of  the  low  lands  make  gay  the  border. 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.     255 

I  would  that  I  had  a  mountain  brook,  brawl 
ing  over  the  stones  on  the  ledge,  and  gliding 
through  the  meadow,  but  for  this  I  fear 
that  I  must  look  to  the  winter  alone. 

SEPTEMBER  2,  1894. 


256     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 


HIGHER  and  higher  rose  the  barometer, 
and  denser  and  denser  became  the  atmos 
phere,  until  the  valley  nearly  disappeared 
and  the  heavens  were  covered  by  a  leaden 
veil.  Yesterday  we  had  seen  some  indica 
tions  of  a  mackerel  sky  beyond  the  smoke, 
and  at  last,  shortly  before  noon  to-day, 
first  in  tiny  particles  at  long  intervals,  and 
then  more  frequently,  the  moisture  made 
itself  felt,  until  at  length  a  real  shower 
was  sweeping  over  the  fields.  Now  we 
were  sure  that  the  September  rains  had 
begun  in  earnest,  and  those  that  were 
upon  the  housetop  came  down,  and  those 
who  were  in  the  fields  sought  shelter.  But 
alas  !  the  shower  was  but  a  fleeting  show : 
it  had  but  little  more  than  moistened  the 
surface,  when  it  was  gone. 

Slight  as  it  was,  however,  the  effect  upon 
the  atmosphere  was  wonderful.  The  smoke 
had  disappeared ;  the  sky  was  cobalt  blue 
once  more,  for  the  first  time  in  weeks,  and 
the  sun  poured  down  a  hot  torrent  upon  us- 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     257 

I  noticed  a  curious  effect,  such  as  might 
easily  have  given  rise  to  a  wholly  false  im 
pression.  The  rain  had  not  been  falling 
more  than  five  minutes,  when  behold  the 
brown  and  newly  seeded  field  was  sprinkled 
over  with  spires  of  green  grass  from  two  to 
four  inches  in  height.  It  seemed  like  the 
marvellous  tricks  of  the  Oriental  conjurors, 
-.vho  are  said  to  plant  a  seed,  develop  a  tree, 
and  produce  the  fruit  while  you  wait. 

Now  I  have  no  doubt  that  this  grass  had 
sprung  up  from  the  overturned  sod,  and 
that  it  was  all  standing  in  the  field  ere  the 
rain  began,  but  coated  over  with  a  fine 
powder  of  dust,  which  the  falling  drops 
washed  away,  leaving  the  field,  though 
sparsely,  in  verdure  clad.  Thus  often  the 
senses  deceive  us,  and  false  testimony  may 
unwittingly  be  given  by  the  best-inten- 
tioned. 

It  is  pleasant  to  see  the  blue  once  more, 
pleasant  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  distant 
hills,  even  if  here  and  there  we  observe  that 
the  finger  of  autumn  has  already  touched 
the  trees  and  left  a  blush  of  crimson  or  a 
golden  glow  upon  them  ;  pleasant  also  is  it 
this  evening  to  see  the  friendly  moon  and 
stars  once  more  lending  their  light  to  cheer 
the  night  hours. 
s 


258     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

And  through  the  clearer  air  comes  to 
me  a  soft  little  blossom  of  the  Edelweiss, 
plucked  close  to  the  snow  on  the  Breithorn, 
a  fortnight  ago.  Yes,  perhaps  it  is  pecul 
iar  ;  but  it  is  nevertheless  a  brave  survivor 
of  "the  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous 
fortune,"  and  though  it  may  come  from  the 
very  shadow  of  the  eternal  snows,  I  am  sure 
it  brings  to  me  a  little  warmth  of  kindly 
human  feeling  in  its  heart. 

SEPTEMBER  6,  1894. 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      259 


L. 

AT  last  Polyphemus  is  here  ;  the  great 
one-eyed  monster  that  has  taken  possession 
of  our  highway,  and  bound  it  with  iron 
bars.  An  authority  tells  us  that  Polyphe 
mus  "  fed  upon  human  flesh,  and  kept  his 
flocks  upon  the  coasts  of  Sicily."  We 
might  have  known  as  much.  The  other 
Sicilians  were  here  a  month  ago,  as  I  re 
marked  at  the  time,  and  alas  !  we  be  very 
much  afeared  that  the  monster's  appetite  is 
still  unsated,  and  that  human  flesh  will  yet 
have  to  be  sacrificed  to  him.  But  Galatea 
shall  be  secluded,  if  it  be  possible. 

What  a  terror  that  glaring  eye  will  be  for 
many  a  day  to  man  and  woman  and  beast, 
as  the  car  speeds  its  way  through  the  night 
along  the  common  highway.  With  a  rattle 
and  a  whizz  and  a  rush  ;  with  the  sulphu 
rous  looking  sparks  flying  from  overhead 
as  the  revolving  trolley  makes  and  breaks 
connections,  the  heavy  vehicle  bowls  away, 
bearing  its  human  freight  through  the  dark 
ness  along  the  dusty  road,  stirring  the  damp 


2(3o     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

and  heavy  air,  and  startling  crickets  and 
katydids  from  their  monotonous  and  unend 
ing  conversations,  while  the  occasional  glow 
worm  by  the  roadside,  in  proportion  to  his 
weight,  outdoes  the  giant  in  his  illumination. 
Polyphemus  is  here,  for  weal  or  for  woe. 
When  man  makes  a  scar  on  the  hillside, 
a  great  grey  or  brown  scar,  where  sand  and 
pebbles  and  clay  drift  down  in  ridges,  and 
the  rain  water  cuts  channels  between,  after 
a  while  along  come  the  moss  and  the  cinque- 
foil,  the  chatnomile,  the  asters,  and  the 
golden-rod,  and  then  the  white  birches,  and 
heal  the  scar  and  clothe  it  and  bring  it  back 
into  harmony  with  nature  as  a  part  of  the 
land  of  the  living.  Perhaps,  somehow,  this 
blot  which  marks  our  pristine  freshness  may 
be  turned  to  wholesome  uses,  and  the  path 
of  the  monster  may  yet  be  embroidered 
with  flowers  of  the  Spirit. 

SEPTEMBER  6,  1894. 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.      261 


LI. 

It  droppeth  as  the  gentle  rain  from  heaven 
Upon  the  place  beneath. 

COULD  any  simile  produce  a  more  defi 
nite  and  wholly  satisfying  picture  upon  the 
mind  ?  All  through  the  morning  the  words 
have  been  singing  themselves  to  me  as  I 
worked  under  shelter  with  saw  and  chisel, 
hammer  and  nails,  securely  placing  the  new 
foster  mother  which  is  to  brood  over  the 
coming  generation  of  foundlings  in  my  poul 
try  yard.  Now  more  slowly,  and  now  faster, 
the  light  patter  sounded  upon  the  roof  ;  the 
little  fluffy  bipeds  without  shook  and 
stretched  themselves,  and  sought  shelter 
from  a  dispensation  to  which  they  were 
unused,  and  the  clean  white  elders  gathered 
about  and  dabbled  in  a  muddy  pool  which 
had  quickly  formed.  Corn  blades  and  grass 
blades  glistened  after  their  bath,  and  the 
dry  earth  of  the  newly  tilled  field  eagerly 
drank  up  the  welcome  drops,  for  which  the 
grass  seed  had  been  waiting  for  a  week. 


262     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

And  I  hoped  that  far  away  in  the  woods, 
the  rain  might  overtake  the  fell  destroyer 
on  his  fiery  path,  and  quietly  smother  his 
rage,  even  as  balm  may  sometime  light 
upon  the  hearts  of  those  whose  homes  and 
hearths  he  has  already  made  desolate. 

The  showers  have  come  like  a  cool  hand 
softly  laid  upon  a  fevered  forehead.  The 
rain  has  not  been  a  very  heavy  one,  and 
now  there  is  a  halt  as  though  the  elements 
were  uncertain  whether  to  continue  their 
bounties.  But  the  darkness  cometh  on 
apace  ;  already  with  the  shortening  day  I 
have  to  draw  my  chair  close  to  the  window 
to  obtain  light  enough  for  my  writing ;  I 
have  faith  to  believe  that  the  fountains  will 
again  be  opened  during  the  night  watches. 

I  look  out  upon  the  leaves  of  the  maple 
tree  near  my  window,  washed  clean  of  the 
fine  dust  which  has  been  borne  upon  the 
wings  of  the  wind  for  many  a  day,  and 
wonder  what  they  are  thinking  all  day  long, 
and  week  after  week,  now  hanging  motion 
less  and  now  swaying  to  and  fro  in  the 
passing  breeze.  For  that  they  have  life  is 
certain,  and  what  is  life  without  thought  ? 
I  cannot  quite  rid  myself  of  the  feeling  that 
there  is  a  certain  consciousness  even  in  the 
leaves.  Darwin  has  shown  such  acts  of 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     263 

deliberation  upon  the  part  of  climbing 
plants,  as  give  us  pause,  and  make  us 
occasionally  feel  that  we  must  speak  softly, 
and  perhaps  be  a  little  careful  even  of  our 
reflections  in  their  presence.  And  have  you 
not  heard  how  sometimes  a  great  tree, 
being  athirst,  will  send  its  roots  far  around 
a  rock  or  a  building  to  a  well  or  spring,  in 
order  to  fetch  it  water  ? 

So  when  I  go  up  into  a  high  mountain, 
where  great  oaks  and  lordly  pines  and  hem 
locks  wave,  or  rind  my  way  down  through 
a  secluded  valley  wrhere  a  clear  brook 
tumbles  over  smooth  worn  stones,  under 
overhanging  grasses  and  fronds  of  fern, 
where  the  forget-me-not  lifts  its  blue  eyes, 
and  the  proud  cardinal  flower  sparkles,  I 
cannot  quite  think  that  my  coming  brought 
thither  the  first  throb  of  conscious  life. 
And  when  I  see  the  lily  sending  its  delicate 
searching  filaments  deep  down  among  the 
noisome  masses  of  decay  and  seemingly 
useless  waste,  and  drawing  thence  the  ele 
ments  from  which  it  elaborates  a  glory  of 
green  leaf  and  spotless  and  fragrant  blossom, 
and  then  look  upon  "a  lord  of  creation" 
who  should  be  "  how  noble  in  reason  !  how 
infinite  in  faculty  !  in  form  and  movement 
how  express  and  admirable  !  in  action  how 


264     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

like  an  angel !  in  apprehension  how  like 
a  god  ! "  and  see  him  confined  to  a  petty 
round,  or  filled  with  ignoble  ambitions ; 
defacing  the  lovely  front  of  nature,  or 
cramping  the  souls  about  him,  and  soiling 
all  the  fair  pages  that  he  touches,  with  no 
responsive  thrill  to  all  the  life  impulses  with 
which  the  universe  is  ever  palpitating,  I 
hardly  have  room  to  wonder  which  has  the 
nobler  thoughts,  or  which  is  the  purer  and 
truer  channel  for  the  current  of  the  infinite 
life. 

SEPTEMBER  8,  1894. 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      265 


LII. 

A  DARK  and  sombre  room,  only  lighted 
by  a  lamp  which  stands  upon  a  table  at  one 
side  covered  with  books,  crucibles,  alem 
bics,  retorts,  and  vessels  of  various  kinds. 
Books  arranged  in  cases  along  the  walls.  Sit 
ting  by  the  table,  bowed  over  the  books,  a 
little  old  man  with  long  grey  hair  and  beard. 
Music  by  the  orchestra ;  it  is  Gounod's. 
Then  the  old  man  sings,  and  in  the  melody 
and  harmony  the  story  of  Dr.  Faustus  is 
unfolded. 

You  can  paint  in  high  key  or  in  low,  in 
black  and  white  or  in  colour;  tell  your 
story  in  prose  or  in  poetry,  in  a  monotone 
or  in  melodious  phrases  ;  given  the  medium 
and  keynote,  and  all  falls  into  its  place. 
We  do  not,  it  is  true,  usually  sing  our  solil 
oquies  with  gesticulations,  but  this  does  not 
make  the  opera  untrue.  We  have  been 
transported  to  the  kingdom  of  the  muses, 
where  this  is  the  universal  custom,  that  is 
all.  And  so  it  does  not  disturb  us  in  the 
least  that  as  memory  retraces  the  days  that 


266     FROM   A    NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

are  gone,  and  imagination  calls  up  pictures 
of  the  joys  of  the  past,  a  great  longing  takes 
possession  of  the  soul  of  the  scholar  to  walk 
again  the  pleasant  paths  of  youth,  and 
Mephistopheles  emerges  from  the  studious 
gloom,  and  in  harmonious  accents  tenders 
his  uncanny  services. 

How  often,  and  in  how  many  forms,  the 
story  comes  to  us  !  How  to  hold  fast  to  life 
and  its  joys  ;  how  to  turn  the  hour  glass, 
and  see  again  the  sands  running  gently  from 
the  full  to  the  empty  bulb.  In  fact  and  in 
fiction :  Ponce  de  Leon  in  search  of  the 
fountain  of  youth ;  the  alchemists  and  the 
Rosicrucians ;  Paracelsus  ;  Claude  Frollo 
in  Victor  Hugo's  "  Hunchback  of  Notre 
Dame";  the  Illuminati  in  George  Sand's 
"  Consuelo  "  and  "  Countess  de  Rudolstadt  " 
and  out  of  them  :  the  famous  French  physi 
cian  of  our  own  day,  Brown-Sequard,  with 
his  elixir  of  life.  Life  !  Life  !  More  life 
and  fuller  is  our  cry,  and  we  cling  to  the 
receding  years  as  one  clings  to  a  rope  while 
feeling  himself  drifting  ever  farther  and 
farther  from  shore  upon  an  ebbing  tide. 

But  exert  ourselves  as  we  may,  we  are 
only  conscious  that  like  one  caught  by  a 
devil-fish,  whose  every  writhing  tends  but 
to  tighten  upon  him  the  monster's  tentacles, 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     267 

or  like  one  sinking  in  a  quicksand,  whose 
struggles  carry  him  deeper  and  deeper,  our 
efforts  to  escape  are  worse  than  vain.  Ever 
present  with  us  is  the  vision  of  those  who 
long  ago  slipped  beyond  the  curtain  which 
shrouds  the  vast  unknown.  We  see  them 
as  they  were  ;  they  said  to  us  but  ffMuf 
SSkDerjefjen,"  and  now,  the  river  that  parts 
us,  once  but  a  tiny  thread,  has  grown  so 
wide,  so  wide  !  How  easy  for  some,  is  the 
way  which  for  others  is  marked  "No 
thoroughfare  !  "  AVith  an  assured  confi 
dence,  born,  shall  we  say  ?  of  lack  of  reflec 
tion,  they  drop  the  pulseless  hand,  believing 
that  next  week,  next  year,  a  generation 
hence,  they  will  grasp  it  again  and  take  up 
life  in  unchanged  relations.  Happy  dream 
ers  !  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you  to  try  to  realize 
how  the  young  mother  who  leaves  her  child 
a  prattling  babe,  and  meets  him  again  in 
some  other  sphere,  a  hoary-headed  nonage 
narian,  with  his  sons  and  his  daughters, 
his  grandchildren  and  great-grandchildren 
about  him,  shall  orient  herself,  and  take  up 
the  old  relation  ?  Ah  !  my  friends,  I  fear 
that  in  that  other  land,  that  "  undiscovered 
country  from  whose  bourne  no  traveller 
returns,"  either  idealism  reigns,  and  each 
will  dwell  in  a  fully  equipped  world  of  his 


268     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

own,  or  we  shall  have  to  begin  again  where 
fate  may  leave  us.  As  the  tree  falls,  so  shall 
it  lie  ;  there  is  no  retracing  the  steps  which 
have  been  taken. 

How  to  grow  old  gracefully  is  the  problem. 
The  slings  and  arrows  of  outrageous  fortune 
may  have  whizzed  for  many  a  year  around 
our  devoted  heads,  and  the  scars  which  we 
could  show,  may  be  as  numerous  as  the 
sands  of  the  sea.  But  the  desires  and  hopes 
of  our  youth  still  linger  with  us,  as  we  linger, 
mayhap,  superfluous  upon  the  stage.  Have 
you  ever  reversed  your  opera-glass  in  the 
midst  of  the  play  and  watched  the  tiny 
actors  afar  off  go  through  their  mimic  parts, 
and  seemed  to  hear  their  voices  likewise 
fade  into  the  remote  distance  ?  So  we  must 
sometimes  realize  with  a  shock  that  while 
through  our  glass  of  custom,  which  is  ever 
ready,  we  see  the  youths  about  us  so  near 
that  we  can  put  our  hand  upon  them,  they 
in  their  turn,  with  the  inexperience  of  youth, 
hold  their  glasses  reversed,  and  view  us  far, 
far  away,  a  mere  reminiscence  of  a  life 
which  has  been,  our  feeble  voices  just  whis 
pering  on  the  breeze,  a  part  of  the  accumu 
lated  burden  of  the  past.  We  suddenly 
catch  sight  of  our  reflection  in  the  mirror, 
and  wonder  what  strange  spell  can  have 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.     269 

transformed  us  so.     Do  you  remember  the 
quandary  of  the  little  old  woman  ? 

"  But  if  it  be  I,  as  I  do  hope  it  be, 

I've  a  little  dog  at  home,  and  he'll  know  me ; 

If  it  be  I,  he'll  wag  his  little  tail, 

And  if  it  be  not  I,  he'll  loudly  bark  and 

wail!  " 

Home  went  the  little  woman  all  in  the  dark, 
Up  got  the  little  dog,  and  he  began  to  bark, 
He  began  to  bark,  so  she  began  to  cry, 
"  Lauk-a-mercy  on  me,  this  is  none  of  I!  " 

But,  alas  !  I  am  afraid  it  must  be  I,  all 
the  same,  or  what  is  left  of  the  I  that  was, 
out  from  which  may  have  gone  so  much 
virtue,  or  so  much  weakness.  Is  the  in 
dividual  but  a  passive  instrument,  a  medium 
only,  through  which  power  passes  to  effect 
its  end,  as  the  wire  bears  the  electric  cur 
rent  ?  Does  he  not  sometimes  transmute 
the  force,  so  that  motion,  as  it  were,  be 
comes  heat,  or  electric  power  or  attraction  ? 
Is  he  not  a  solvent,  and  may  not  his  pres 
ence  now  and  then  cause  a  rearrangement 
of  the  atoms,  and  precipitate  the  fine  gold  ? 

Helmholtz  is  dead, — he  whose  strong 
hand  reconstructed,  or  constructed  ab  initio, 
the  theory  of  the  persistence  of  force. 
Think  of  it ;  since  he  published  his  paper 
upon  the  "Conservation  of  force  "  in  1847, 


270     FROM    A   NEW    ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

the  world,  to  philosophic  eyes,  has  been 
a  new  world,  —  and  Hehnholtz  is  dead. 
Dead  !  What  is  that  ? 

One  generation  passeth  away,  and  another 
cometh :  — 

It  is  time  to  be  old, 
To  take  in  sail : 

—  Ah  !  but  is  it  just  that  ?  Let  us  see  that 
our  garments  have  a  fitting  modesty  of 
colour  and  form  ;  let  us  withdraw  to  a  quiet 
corner  and  release  the  younger  spirits  which 
cannot  brook  long  confinement. 

On  with  the  dance  !  let  joy  be  nm-onnned ; 
No  sleep  till  morn,  when  Youth  and  Pleasure 

meet 
To  chase  the  glowing  hours  with  flying  feet. 

But  when  the  passing  years  have  been 
accepted,  and  the  sceptre  has  been  surren 
dered  into  other  hands,  though  we  be  old, 
the  world  is  yet  young,  and  it  has  no  re 
tired  list. 

As  the  bird  trims  her  to  the  gale, 
I  trim  myself  to  the  storm  of  time, 
I  man  the  rudder,  reef  the  sail, 
Obey  the  voice  at  eve  obeyed  at  prime. 

It  is  not  well  to  be  always  analyzing  one's 
sensations  and  one's  character  ;  seeds  will 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     271 

not  germinate  if  they  are  dug  up  very  often 
to  see  whether  they  have  yet  sprouted. 
But  a  good  merchant  occasionally  takes 
account  of  stock,  and  at  all  events  he  knows 
that  he  must  have  a  clear  idea  of  the  rela 
tion  in  which  he  stands  to  the  market,  and 
to  his  associates  and  competitors.  The 
mariner  takes  an  observation  when  the  sun 
crosses  the  line.  It  is  worth  while  for  a 
man  to  know  whether  or  not  he  is  out  of 
his  course  ;  worth  while  to  know  whether 
the  light  at  his  prow  is  playing  the  part  of 
a  will-of-the-wisp  and  leading  other  craft 
into  dangerous  waters.  And,  dropping  the 
simile,  it  is  worth  while  to  avoid  being  a 
bore,  a  grumbler,  a  marplot,  a  busybody, 
a  burden  or  a  nuisance  of  any  kind ;  worth 
while  to  remember  that  there  is  much  to  be 
done  by  all  who  can  work,  before  the  human 
race  shall  be  all  that  the  human  race  might 
be,  before  the  inhabited  world  shall  be  all 
compact  of  grace  and  loveliness.  So  though 

—  you  and  I  are  old  ; 

Old  age  hath  yet  his  honour  and  his  toil ; 
Death  closes  all :  but  something  ere  the  end, 
Some  work  of  noble  note,  may  yet  be  done, 
Not  unbecoming  men  that  strove  with  Gods. 
The  lights  begin  to  twinkle  from  the  rocks : 
The  long  clay  wanes:  the  slow  moon  climbs: 
the  deep 


272     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

Moans  round  with  many  voices.     Come, 

my  friends, 

'Tis  not  too  late  to  seek  a  newer  world. 
Push  off,  and  sitting  well  in  order  smite 
The  sounding  furrows  ;  for  my  purpose  holds 
To  sail  beyond  the  sunset,  and  the  baths 
Of  all  the  western  stars,  until  I  die. 
It  may  be  that  the  gulfs  will  wash  us  down: 
It  may  be  we  shall  touch  the  Happy  Isles, 
And  see  the  great  Achilles,  whom  we  knew. 
Tho'  much  is  taken,  much  abides;   and  tho' 
We  are  not  now  that  strength  which  in  old 

days 
Moved  earth  and  heaven ;  that  which  we  are, 

we  are ; 

One  equal  temper  of  heroic  hearts, 
Made  weak  by  time  and  fate,  but  strong  in 

will 
To  strive,  to  seek,  to  find,  and  not  to  yield. 

SEPTEMBER  15,  1894. 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.     273 


LIII. 

I  HAVE  planted  a  bit  of  sky  in  the  marshy 
ground  ;it  the  foot  of  the  pasture.  When 
I  put  it  there  I  could  only  see  in  it  gray 
smoke  and  haze,  with  now  and  then  a  glint 
of  blue,  with  coarse  grass  and  golden-rods 
and  asters  reversed  around  the  borders. 
But  last  night  I  found  the  whole  moon  in 
it,  full  and  round,  with  two  dainty  stars, 
far,  far  down  in  the  depths  of  the  earth 
beneath,  and  to-day  there  are  towering 
masses  of  cumulus  cloud  with  frills  and 
ripples  along  the  edges,  luminous  above, 
and  deepening  below  to  a  tone  the  real 
lightness  of  which  you  will  never  know 
until  you  undertake  to  paint  it.  You  do  not 
realize  how  delicate  and  graceful  and  subtile 
are  the  lines  of  tree  and  herb,  until  you 
watch  their  reflections  in  a  sheet  of  water. 
Nature  is  so  lavish  of  her  beauty  that  it  is 
itsually  with  us  all  as  it  was  with  Yankee 
Doodle,  who  "  Couldn't  see  the  town  for  so 
many  houses."  We  need  to  have  a  tiny 
morsel  set  apart  and  to  concentrate  our 
T 


274     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

attention  upon  it  in  order  to  see  a  little  of 
that  grace  of  which  the  world  is  full. 

I  think  if  people  only  knew  how  much 
easier  it  is  to  transplant  the  sky  than  it  is 
to  transplant  safely  anything  else,  they 
would  always  have  a  bit  of  it  growing 
within  their  line  of  vision.  I  mean  people 
who  live  in  the  country,  that  is,  people  who 
actually  live.  Even  those  who  survive  in 
the  city,  if  they  are  so  fortunate  as  to  own 
or  rent  a  parallelepipedon  (I  believe  that  is 
the  word)  twenty  feet  by  a  hundred,  begin 
ning  at  the  centre  of  the  earth  and  extend 
ing  into  infinite  space,  might  plant  a  bit  of 
the  sky  in  their  back  yard,  and  so  get  into 
near  relations  with  something  that  is  pure 
and  true,  if  changeable.  But  I  am  wrong  as 
to  the  shape  of  these  little  tuppenny-ha'penny 
city  possessions.  The  sides  are  not  parallel, 
but  instead,  each  starts  from  an  invisible 
point  at  the  centre  of  the  earth,  and,  reach 
ing  the  designated  size  at  the  surface,  con 
tinues  to  broaden  and  broaden  out  into 
infinite  space  forever  and  ever,  amen.  And 
the  peculiarity  of  this  little  matter,  infinity, 
is  that  out  there  there  is  no  need  to  quarrel 
about  boundaries,  but  how  many  soever 
there  may  be  of  these  closely  packed  muni 
cipal  neighbours,  though  their  number  be 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     275 

infinite,  in  the  last  extremity  (which  is 
never  reached)  each  man's  territory  be 
comes  infinite  in  length  and  breadth  as  well 
as  in  thickness.  And  so  he  has  his  escape 
into  the  infinite. 

And  it  is  worth  something  to  see  the  sky, 
even  at  second  hand.  Worth,  ah !  how 
much  !  to  look  out  upon  great  stretches  of 
it,  upon  untold  and  untellable  millions  of 
miles,  with  its  cloud-capped  towers,  its  gor 
geous  palaces,  its  solemn  temples. 

We  are  now  in  the  full  tide  of  the  early 
autumn,  with  its  wealth  of  bloom.  All  the 
old  favourites  are  here  :  the  asters  and  the 
golden-rods,  the  cardinal  flower,  the  fringed 
gentian,  the  ladies'-tresses,  the  grass  of 
Parnassus,  the  wild  carrot,  the  autumn 
buttercup,  — a  wealth  of  bloom  that  defies 
enumeration  or  computation  or  description. 
And  the  green  trees  also  are  putting  on 
their  ascension  robes,  not  of  white,  but  of 
brown  and  of  red  and  of  gold. 

But  the  summer  lingers  ;  the  air  is  still 
and  sultry  ;  portentous  clouds  gather  on 
the  hills  beyond  the  valley,  and  are  cloven 
from  time  to  time  by  flashes  of  lightning,  and 
heavy  thunder  rolls  around  the  welkin. 

SEPTEMBER  16,  1894. 


2/6     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 


LIV. 

"  THE  rains  descended  and  the  floods  came 
and  the  winds  blew  and  beat  upon  that 
house,  and  it  fell  not."  And  it  rained,  and 
it  rained,  and  it  rained.  It  was  really  like 
old  times.  The  rain  came  on  rather  gently 
and  intermittently,  but  gradually  gained 
force  and  continuity  until  after  nightfall, 
and  then  we  had  it  in  earnest,  a  steady 
downpour.  The  fountains  of  the  heavens 
were  opened,  and  hour  after  hour  the  deluge 
fell,  making  glad  the  thirsting  fields  and  the 
hearts  of  men.  We  remembered  that  in  for 
mer  times,  under  the  old  dispensation,  we 
had  had  such  rains,  and  there  was  a  grateful 
sense  of  something  familiar  which  had  quite 
passed  from  our  memory,  but  which  had 
suddenly  been  again  brought  to  mind. 

The  following  morning  the  sun  came  out 
bright  and  clear.  I  went  up  the  hill,  pass 
ing  upon  my  way  the  pool  in  the  marsh, 
which  I  found  full  to  the  brim,  and  weeping 
over  its  low  embankment.  The  cottage  was 
in  its  place,  but  it  held  more  water  than  I 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     277 

hope  it  may  ever  hold  again.  The  roof  had 
not  been  quite  completed  when  the  rain 
began,  and  the  temporary  drains  upon  the 
ungraded  slope  proved  insufficient  for  the 
emergency,  so  that  a  more  than  ample 
supply  was  delivered  through  the  cellar  win 
dows.  But  otherwise  the  building  had  not 
suffered,  and  it  was  a  small  matter  to  open 
the  permanent  drain  already  planned,  and 
draw  off  the  accumulation,  which  fur  a 
time  formed  a  mountain  torrent  in  the  fore 
ground.  The  carpenters  were  stimulated  to 
renewed  exertions  by  the  warning,  and  set 
to  work  iii  good  earnest  to  close  the  gap  in 
the  roof  (the  stable-door,  as  it  were),  a 
labour  which  they  had  just  completed  upon 
the  coming  of  another  heavy  shower  in  the 
afternoon. 

The  new  grass  has  sprung  up  freely  over 
the  field,  and  its  fresh  green  gives  a  pleasant 
overtone  to  the  brown  earth,  which  it  does 
not  yet,  but  soon  will,  cover. 

The  day  after  the  storm  I  placed  in  my 
brooder  twelve  downy  little  youngsters  that 
had  just  been  hatched,  and  sent  the  mother 
off  to  attend  to  other  business.  It  was  my 
first  experiment  with  the  brooder,  though 
I  had  kept  it  heated  for  several  days  to  test 
its  temper.  One  of  the  infants  had  not 


278     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSTDE. 

acquired  quite  strength  enough  to  break 
the  shell,  and  was  assisted  in  that  under 
taking  by  Nicholas  John.  It  was  then  put 
into  the  brooder  with  the  others,  but  seemed 
so  weak  and  miserable,  thus  thrown  so 
untimely  upon  a  cold  and  uncharitable 
world,  that  it  was  placed  for  a  few  hours 
in  the  incubator.  This,  by  the  way,  con 
tains  about  a  hundred  eggs,  the  tenants  of 
which  are  at  present  something  more  than 
half  way  between  this  world  and  the  world 
to  come,  or  between  the  other  world  and 
this,  whichever  is  the  more  appropriate 
expression.  (I  get  very  much  confused  be 
tween  these  different  worlds. )  The  outcome 
of  this  experiment  will  be  very  interesting. 
However  it  may  result  with  the  eggs,  the 
effect  was  quite  satisfactory  in  the  case  of 
the  immature  chick,  which,  after  being  put 
back  into  the  brooder,  I  found  busy  with 
the  others,  the  following  morning,  all  being 
engaged  in  earning  an  honest  livelihood  on 
the  floor  of  their  wooden  foster  mother. 

Thinking  them  now  old  enough  to  endure 
a  further  experience  of  life,  I  removed 
the  slide  which  closed  the  approach  to  the 
sunny  outer  world ;  but  it  was  an  hour  or 
two  before  any  ventured  so  far  as  into  the 
open  air.  At  length  I  encouraged  two  or 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.     279 

three  to  go  into  the  passageway,  and  then 
continued  my  work  outside.  After  a  while 
one  gradually  backed  out  of  the  passage, 
but  it  was  some  moments  before  it  turned 
around  and  seemed  to  realize  the  new  order 
of  things.  With  head  erect,  it  gazed  upon 
the  great  universe,  at  the  green  leaves  and 
the  blue  sky  and  the  great  sun,  and  I  am 
sure  it  must  have  felt  unutterable  things. 
At  all  events,  it  did  not  utter  any,  and 
shortly  afterward,  with  several  others,  it 
was  busily  engaged  pecking  away  at  the 
fresh  earth  near  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel 
leading  to  its  artificial  foster  mother.  And 
before  long,  eleven  little  lumps  of  down,  — 
brown  and  black  and  yellow.  Brown  Leg 
horn  and  Minorca  and  Light  Brahma,  were 
scattered  around  over  quite  a  space  of 
ground,  as  happily  and  naturally  engaged 
as  if  they  had  not  been  introduced  into  this 
great  world  of  ours  a  short  ten  minutes 
before. 

I  counted  only  eleven,  and  hearing  a 
plaintive  peep-peep-ing  within,  I  examined 
and  discovered  that  Benjamin,  the  poor 
foundling  of  the  incubator,  had  not  had 
courage  to  make  a  sortie,  but,  lost  in  the 
vast  solitude  of  the  otherwise  empty  box, 
was  making  his  sad  plight  known  in  the 


280     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

manner  most  natural  to  him.  Taking  him 
up  in  my  hand,  I  conveyed  him  into  the 
yard,  and  put  him  down  near  the  others, 
and  after  a  few  minutes  of  amaze  and  un 
certainty  he  joined  them  in  their  busy 
investigation  into  the  nature  and  character 
of  the  soil. 

I  was  especially  interested  to  note  an 
exhibition  of  inherited,  or  so-called  intuitive 
knowledge.  One  of  the  hens  in  the  ad 
joining  yard  having  given  utterance  to  the 
familiar  note  of  alarm  and  warning,  the 
whole  flock  immediately  huddled  together 
at  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel.  And  this 
reminds  me  of  an  incident  that  occurred 
a  day  or  two  since,  which  both  interested 
and  pleased  me.  A  chicken  several  weeks 
old,  and  rather  too  large  to  get  easily 
through  the  meshes  of  the  wire  netting, 
found  itself  within  an  inclosure  where  it 
was  not  intended  to  be,  and  tried  in  vain, 
with  much  vociferation,  to  get  out.  Seeing 
its  difficulty,  1  went  to  its  rescue,  which  I 
could  only  effect  by  catching  it.  This  I  did 
with  some  difficulty.  While  I  was  attempt 
ing  to  do  this,  its  outcries  were  naturally 
redoubled,  and  that  which  especially  pleased 
me  was  the  fact  that  the  whole  flock  of 
Plymouth  Hocks  on  the  other  side  of  the 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     28 1 

net  flew  to  its  defence,  and  made  a  most 
vigorous,  though  vain,  attack  upon  me  for 
my  supposed  brutality.  They  only  desisted 
when,  having  caught  the  chicken,  I  imme 
diately  released  it  among  them,  and  I  have 
no  doubt  that  they  then  congratulated 
themselves  upon  having  compelled  me  to 
suspend  my  nefarious  proceedings. 

SEPTEMBER  24,  1894. 


282     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 


LV. 

Oh  !  Carry  me  back  to  ole  Virginny. 

THIS  note  is  written  really  and  truly  from 
Underledge  —  far  from  Underledge.  At  the 
foot  of  the  hill  upon  which  stands  the  hotel, 
flow  the  turbid  waters  of  the  Koanoke,  un 
der  broad-leaved  buttonwoods  and  smaller- 
leaved  persimmon  trees.  On  the  walls  of  the 
hotel  the  Allamanda  vines  make  a  great 
show,  with  their  bright  yellow  blossoms,  and 
on  the  terrace  the  crimson  hibiscus  and  the 
motley  lantana,  with  the  broad-leaved  ba 
nana  and  rich  green  rubber  plant,  make 
believe  that  they  are  in  Bermuda.  Around 
us  the  mountains  rise  in  every  direction, 
showing  numerous  CDnical  peaks,  the  char 
acteristic  mountain  forms  of  the  picture 
books  of  our  childhood.  It  is  a  new  sensa 
tion  to  the  eye  accustomed  to  the  long  lines 
of  the  elevated  table-lands  of  New  England, 
to  rest  upon  these  forms,  so  different  in 
their  details,  so  distinctly  mountainous. 
And  as  the  mountains  differ,  so  likewise 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     283 

do  all  the  other  elements  of  the  situation. 
The  southern  colonel  with  his  broad  slouch 
hat  and  his  long  legs  and  long  beard,  ap 
pears  in  great  force.  So  does  the  southern 
negro  in  all  degrees  of  picturesqueness. 
From  an  elevated  office  window  I  look 
down  upon  the  open  market-place  with  its 
ox-carts  and  its  wagon  loads  of  water- 
"  millions  "  and  vegetables  of  all  sorts ;  and 
in  the  court-house,  where  the  general  quiet 
ness  and  decorum  in  speech  surprised  me, 
I  have  the  opportunity  to  admire  the  skill 
with  which  a  learned  advocate,  in  the 
course  of  an  impassioned  address  to  the 
jury,  manages  to  "shoot  off  his  mouth" 
unerringly  (I  use  the  popular  slang  in  a 
literal  sense)  first  in  one  direction  and 
then  in  another,  at  the  spittoons  stationed 
many  feet  away  from  him,  while  I  observe 
evidences  all  around  me  of  a  lack  of  similar 
skill  upon  the  part  of  others. 

As  the  train  wound  its  circuitous  way 
through  the  Shenandoah  valley  two  nights 
ago,  it  seemed  to  pitch  and  roll  almost  like 
a  vessel  in  a  storm  at  sea,  insomuch  as  to 
make  walking  from  one  end  of  the  car  to 
another  without  support  quite  impossible  ; 
and  even  in  one's  berth,  one  was  liable  to 
be  overcome  by  qualms  of  conscience,  —  or 


284     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

something  else  internal.  But  when  morn 
ing  dawned,  the  beauty  of  the  scenery  com 
pelled  attention  to  that  alone.  The  foliage 
is  yet  but  little  changed  by  the  coming  of 
autumn,  but  the  drought  here  has  been  very 
severe,  and  still  continues.  In  the  morn 
ing  and  the  evening  light,  the  mountain 
ranges  take  on  an  exquisite  beauty  of  tone 
and  colour.  There  is,  however,  in  many 
places  a  sense  of  solitude  and  often  of 
desolation,  which  is  depressing.  The  latter 
as  caused  doubtless,  in  part  at  least, 
by  the  occurrences  of  the  times  when 
Sheridan  was  but  "twenty  miles  away,"  is 
visible  here  and  there  in  the  ruins  of  what 
were  probably  at  one  time  substantial  and 
prosperous  homesteads.  At  other  points 
there  are  the  even  more  discouraging  mon 
uments  of  the  widespread  real  estate  boom 
of  a  few  years  ago. 

The  characteristic  building  throughout 
most  of  the  valley  is  the  old  log  house, 
usually  more  or  less  dilapidated,  but  occa 
sionally  carefully  plastered  between  the 
logs  so  as  to  produce  the  effect  of  a  sec 
tion  of  a  zebra,  set  up  on  end.  Often  these 
appear  as  a  collection  or  line  of  negro  cab 
ins  placed  near  the  bottom  upon  each  side 
of  a  narrow  valley  or  ravine,  where  the  old 


FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     285 

mammies  stand  in  the  doorways,  or  the 
little  pickaninnies  lie  around  basking  in  the 
sun.  There  is  seldom  any  evidence  of 
effort  to  beautify  the  home-place  by  the 
planting  of  trees,  shrubs,  or  vines,  or  other 
wise.  The  surroundings  are  usually  bare 
and  unsightly.  The  house  has  the  appear 
ance  not  of  a  home  as  we  think  of  it,  but  of 
being  a  mere  shelter  from  the  inclemency 
of  the  elements.  This  is  doubtless  largely 
because  of  the  great  poverty  of  the  people, 
which  everywhere  forces  itself  upon  the 
attention  ;  but  it  cannot  be  only  because  of 
this.  Certainly  in  other  localities  you  fre 
quently  find  unmistakable  evidences  of 
poverty  accompanied  by  like  unmistakable 
evidences  of  a  craving  for  something  more 
than  food,  clothing,  and  the  shelter  of  a  roof. 
' '  The  man  on  horseback  ' '  is  seen  every 
where  where  people  are  visible.  The  sad 
dle  is  a  natural  home  for  a  Virginian.  I 
cannot,  however,  say  much  for  the  grace 
and  comeliness  of  the  ordinary  Virginia 
horse  as  I  have  seen  him  during  the  past 
few  days.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  he 
must  rather  yield  the  palm  to  the  mule, 
whose  long  ears  make  their  appearance 
upon  every  side.  Not  many  unfamiliar 
crops  appear  in  the  fields.  The  tobacco 


286     FROM   A   NEW    ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

that  I  have  seen  would  make  a  very  poor 
showing  alongside  that  of  Connecticut  or 
Massachusetts,  but  I  cannot  think  that 
that  which  I  have  seen  can  fairly  repre 
sent  the  region.  Much  of  the  corn  crop 
has  been  cut  and  stacked  in  shocks.  That 
which  has  not  been  cut  has  had  the  stalks 
above  the  ears  removed,  and  the  ears  hang 
ing  down,  the  fields  have  taken  on  a  de 
jected  appearance.  An  occasional  field  of 
ripening  millet  is  perhaps  the  most  unfa 
miliar  agricultural  feature  which  has  at 
tracted  my  attention. 

Here,  in  a  great  railroad  centre,  there  is 
a  sense  of  incongruity  in  the  mixture  of 
northern  and  southern  elements,  the  laissez 
faire  of  the  natives,  and  the  "get  there" 
of  the  invading  Yankees.  I  cannot  say  that 
either  of  them  in  the  present  stage  im 
presses  me  very  pleasantly  ;  but  then  I  sup 
pose  that  it  is  characteristic  of  the  born 
optimist  that  to  him  the  things  of  the  pres 
ent  are  always  pretty  bad  —  else  how  could 
he  be  ever  looking  forward  to  the  times 
when  things  will  be  better?  "There's  a 
good  time  coming,  boys ;  wait  a  little 
longer." 

SEPTEMBER  25,  181)4. 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     287 


LVI. 

As  I  write,  I  am  sitting  under  the  mag 
nificent  arch  of  the  Natural  Bridge.  I 
have  made  the  ordinary  round,  following 
a  lateral  stream  from  the  hotels,  past  the 
great  old  gnarled  arbor  vitae  trees,  to  Cedar 
creek,  and  thence  up  along  its  course 
through  the  gorge,  under  the  great  arch, 
to  the  saltpetre  cave,  to  Hemlock  Island, 
to  Lost  River,  and  Lace  Water  Falls.  Then 
by  devious  ways  among  great  tulip  and 
hemlock  and  beech  trees  and  along  and 
over  steep  hillsides,  I  gained  the  ruined 
summer  house  or  observatory  from  whence 
one  can  see  in  all  directions  a  multitu 
dinous  host  of  mountains :  Purgatory 
Mountain  and  House  Mountain,  North 
Mountain  and  Cave  Mountain,  and  scores 
of  others,  with  the  famed  Peaks  of  Otter 
away  in  the  southeast.  Numerous  cones 
appear  from  this  point,  as  from  almost 
every  other  in  the  valley.  The  view  is 
superb. 

And  then,  still  following  the  beaten  track, 


288     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

I  came  out  at  length  upon  the  top  of  the 
bridge,  whence  its  imposing  height  is  more 
clearly  discerned.  The  stream  beneath 
has  suffered  greatly  from  the  long  drought. 
When  it  is  full,  as  during  the  breaking  up 
of  the  accumulated  snows  of  the  winter, 
the  view  must  be  most  effective  from  this 
point. 

Here  I  parted  from  a  chance  travelling 
acquaintance,  and  struck  off  into  a  bypath 
through  the  woods,  trusting  that  it  would 
ultimately  lead  me  to  an  easy  slope  by 
which  I  might  make  my  descent  again  to 
the  bed  of  the  stream,  and  in  this  I  was 
not  mistaken.  And  so,  following  now  the 
conventional  path,  now  stepping  or  spring 
ing  from  rock  to  rock  in  the  bed  of  the 
creek,  and  now  pushing  my  way  among 
trees  and  bushes,  I  at  last  find  myself 
alone  in  the  fading  evening  light  under 
the  bridge  itself,  with  no  sound  in  my  ears 
but  that  of  the  water  as  it  makes  its  way 
over  its  irregular  rocky  bed. 

It  is  good  to  be  here,  —  good  to  look  up 
at  that  vast  arch  with  the  pictures  of  which 
we  have  all  been  so  familiar  from  child 
hood,  but  which  so  few  of  us  see  or  think 
that  we  much  care  to  see.  Let  me  tell  you 
to  go  to  see  it,  and  also  to  do  what  I  cannot 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     289 

do,  remain  long  enough  to  know  it  in  its 
various  aspects,  and  to  steep  yourself  fully 
in  the  beauty  of  this  most  beautiful  region. 

Having  a  reverent  regard  for  the  mem 
ory  of  the  father  of  his-  and  my  country, 
I  have  been  trying  —  in  vain  —  to  discover 
the  point  where  that  distinguished  citizen 
carved  his  name  upon  t^e  bridge,  an  act 
in  the  performance  of  wMch  I  sincerely 
wish  that  he  had  been  the  }s>$t.  He  seems 
to  have  been  as  ready  will*  his  knife  as 
with  his  hatchet.  And  I  lif^e  also  been 
thinking,  reminded  thereby  of  Kobert 
Lowell's  poem,  "Fresh  Hearts,  that  Failed 
Three  Thousand  Years  ago,; '  with  its 
motto,  "Men  that  were  makers  "  its  story 
of  the  long  and  weary  climb,  a"d  its  pa 
thetic  ending,  —  "A  boy  —  and  yet  no 
name."  Here,  indeed,  carved  unon  the 
rock  was  the  name  of  a  man  who  ^as  a 
maker,  the  maker  of  an  empire ;  wno  left 
behind  him,  to  last  as  long  as  records  inay 
endure  and  after  this  great  bridge  sha)' 
have  crumbled  into  the  valley,  a  name  to 
be  remembered. 

But  what  boots  it  ?     What  is  fame  that 

we  should  greatly  desire  it  ?     It  is  pleasant 

to  have  the  recognition  of  those  whom  you 

know,  of  your  countrymen,  of  your  genera- 

u 


2QO     FROM    A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

tion ;  but  better  is  it  to  know  or  to  trust  in 
the  secrecy  of  your  own  heart,  that  you  are 
at  least  one  of  the  men  who  are  makers,  — 
that  in  an  evil  time,  you  have  laid  a  stone 
or  carried  mortar  or  borne  a  message  which 
contributed  to  the  strengthening  of  the  em 
pire  which  your  forefathers  builded.  Grate 
ful  is  it  to  the  spirit  — at  least  grateful  it 
•should  be  —  to  do  something  toward  the  con 
struction  of  an  enduring  bridge  between 
the  glories  of  the  past  and  the  greater 
glories  of  the  future.  Pontifex  Maximus 
only  one  can  be  ;  let  us  make  sure  that 
each  of  us  can  name  himself  in  his  most 
secret  hour  pontifex  —  and  therewith  be 
content. 

SEPTEMBER  26,  1894. 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.     29! 


LVII. 

THE  scene  changes.  I  am  again  at  Un- 
derledge.  And  after  making  allowance  for 
all  that  is  sordid  and  mean  in  our  life,  for 
the  selfishness  and  self-seeking,  for  the 
ignoble  ambitions,  for  the  waste  of  thought 
and  precious  hours  upon  petty  things,  for 
the  prevalent  crude  materialism  which 
takes  little  note  of  the  higher  matters  of 
the  imagination,  for  the  dull  aesthetic  sense 
which  leads  to  the  most  frightful  mon 
strosities  in  omission  and  commission,  at 
which  you  will  bear  me  witness  that  I  have 
not  hesitated  to  grumble,  I  am  bound  to 
admit  that  I  approach  my  home  with  an 
assurance  that  there  are  degrees  in  degrada 
tion,  and  that  we  are  not  at  the  lowest 
depth.  Industry  is  a  good  thing,  and  we 
are  more  industrious.  Thrift  is  a  good 
thing,  and  we  are  more  thrifty.  Extended 
knowledge  is  a  good  thing,  and  we  know 
more  of  the  world.  Neatness  is  a  good 
thing,  and  we  are  more  neat.  Beauty  is  a 
good  thing,  and  we  strive  in  a  way  for 


292     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

beauty,  and  sometimes  achieve  it,  even  if 
our  ways  are  often  mistaken  ones. 

And  I  think  that  this  is  true  not  only  of 
an  old  village  such  as  this,  old  in  the 
American  sense,  I  mean,  but  I  think  that 
it  is  also  true  of  the  more  retired  regions 
of  the  Eastern  States,  whence  cities  are  not 
readily  accessible,  where  the  demands  of 
life  are  hard,  and  where  intercommunica 
tion  between  families  and  neighbourhoods 
is  difficult. 

I  am  fain  to  believe  that  another  genera 
tion  will  effect  considerable  changes,  and 
changes  for  the  better,  in  the  region  that  I 
have  just  left.  Therefore  I  live  in  hope. 
I  saw  there  two  distinct  phases  of  life,  —  the 
old  life  which  suffers  under  the  vis  inertia:, 
and  which  has  hardly  awakened  to  the  pres 
ent,  and  the  disagreeable  new  life  of  what 
seems  almost  like  a  border  town  (although 
in  fact  one  of  the  oldest  in  the  country), 
because  it  has  recently  been  invaded  by  the 
speculative  immigrant  from  the  North,  with 
all  his  shrewdness,  and  all  his  lack  of 
"sweetness  and  light."  But  grace  and 
beauty  are  sure  to  blossom  in  the  end. 

At  the  extreme  south  end  of  our  village, 
upon  a  low  mound  at  the  foot  of  a  beautiful 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     293 

green  slope,  below  one  of  the  finest  points 
of  the  ledge,  which  is  here,  as  at  most  other 
points,  masked  by  forest  trees,  there  stands 
a  large  farmhouse  built  about  a  hundred 
years  ago.  It  is  painted  white,  with  green 
blinds,  in  the  ordinary  New  England  fash 
ion,  and  is  surrounded  by  trees  ;  and  from 
the  front,  and  the  wide  veranda  at  the 
side,  there  is  an  uninterrupted  view  across 
the  valley  to  the  western  hills,  winch,  as  I 
looked  upon  them  to-day  just  after  the  sun 
had  sunk  behind  them,  lay  firmly  outlined 
on  the  clear  evening  sky. 

This  is  what  we  know  as  "The  Lodge." 
It  is  one  of  the  numerous  holiday  homes 
established  in  late  years,  for  the  benefit  of 
those  whose  ordinary  life  is  that  of  the 
shop  and  the  tenemen1>house,  many  of 
whom,  doubtless,  had  no  clear  idea  of  what 
the  world  was  where  there  were  no  paved 
streets  and  blocks  of  houses,  until  the  op 
portunity  offered  which  these  homes  afford. 
This  one  is  supported  by  the  alumnae  and 
others  interested  in  our  seminary,  who 
supply  it  with  guests  and  watch  over  it  with 
loving  care.  In  it  twenty  young  women 
and  girls  can  be  accommodated  at  once, 
and  fresh  relays  are  sent  from  time  to  time 
during  the  summer.  They  will  be  received, 


294     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE. 

indeed,  at  any  season,  but  with  the  coming 
on  of  the  cooler  weather  comes  the  bustle 
and  hurry  of  business,  and  few  can  then 
escape  from  their  accustomed  toils.  Indeed, 
the  country  in  winter  is  a  terra  incoynita 
to  most  citizens,  —  even  those  whose  occu 
pations  do  not  tie  them  to  the  cities,  —  if  I 
were  not  constitutionally  opposed  to  puns, 
I  should  say  a  terror  incognita.  If  it  were 
otherwise,  and  they  really  knew  how  beauti 
ful  the  winter  is,  the  exodus  from  the  cities 
would  be  so  great  that  we  should  have  to 
go  to  them  to  find  elbow  room,  excepting 
that  the  country  —  "  all  out  of  doors  "  —  is 
so  broad  and  hospitable.  As  it  is,  even  in 
summer  time  and  on  the  border  of  our 
village,  some  find  it  very  lonesome  at  their 
first  coming. 

The  lodge  has  now  been  used  as  such  for 
about  ten  years.  It  is  under  the  direct 
charge  of  a  farmer  well  on  in  middle  life 
(who  was  born  in  it),  and  his  wife,  who 
are  thus  enabled  to  remain  in  their  old 
home,  and  at  the  same  time  effectively  serve 
the  purpose  of  those  responsible  for  the 
venture. 

It  is  pleasant  to  meet  the  pale  inmates 
strolling  in  the  sun,  and  feel  that  some  of 
the  humours  of  their  common  life  are  being 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     295 

exorcised,  and  a  more  healthy  tone,  moral 
and  physical,  is  being  established.  And 
whatever  the  dangers  of  ordinary  charity 
in  the  way  of  almsgiving  or  otherwise,  I 
think  that  none  can  find  solid  ground  for 
effective  criticism  of  an  enterprise  like  this. 

SEPTEMBER  29,  1894. 


296     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 


LVIII. 

SIXTY-NINE  dear  little  fuzzy  foundlings 
have  graduated  from  the  incubator.  There 
should  have  been  more,  but,  as  fate  would 
have  it,  some  never  got  ' '  out  of  the  every 
where  into  the  here,"  and  some,  like  nu 
merous  other  promising  enterprises  of  great 
pith  and  moment,  "  died-a-bornin'." 

And  after  all,  the  result  of  this  first  ex 
periment  is  far  from  being  contemptible. 
As  the  time  approached  for  it  to  culminate, 
my  watchfulness  increased,  and  I  hovered 
over  the  machine  and  its  precious  contents 
with  a  truly  motherly  interest  and  anxiety. 
On  the  evening  of  the  twentieth  day,  .by 
intently  listening,  I  could  just  hear  the 
slightest  tap-tapping  of  the  prisoners  upon 
the  walls  of  their  cells,  and  it  was  not  until 
the  next  morning  that  the  three  boldest 
made  their  appearance,  having  accomplished 
the  Monte  Cristo  trick  and  emancipated 
themselves  for  good  or  for  ill.  And  awk 
ward  little  miserable  sinners  they  were. 

Throughout    that  day  and  the  next  the 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     297 

flock  continued  to  grow,  lots  being  trans 
ferred  to  the  brooder  from  time  to  time  as 
soon  as  they  appeared  to  have  got  their  sea 
legs  on,  until  all  had  been  consigned  to  its 
shelter.  And  a  quizzical  looking  company 
they  were,  but  withal  disposed  rapidly  to 
put  on  the  air  of  knowing  it  all,  as  if  a 
mother  were  of  no  account,  and  collectivism 
were  the  only  wear.  And  lively  little  ap 
petites  they  have,  and  they  know  exactly 
what  to  do  with  their  bills.  Should  the 
weather  prove  fair  to-morrow,  the  trap  door 
will  be  opened,  and  then  ho  !  for  the  world, 
the  beautiful  world  ! 

My  dainty  Aramis,  my  Amadis  de  Gaul, 
Thaddeus  of  Warsaw,  Baron  Trenck,  Cas 
anova,  or  whatever  name  he  may  be  most 
pleased  to  be  called,  has  fallen  from  his 
high  estate.  It  is  slanderously  said  that 
every  man  has  his  price,  and  if  this  be 
so,  with  some  doubtless  the  price  depends 
upon  the  aesthetic  sense. 

The  Leghorns  are  moulting,  the  last  of 
the  tribes.  And  a  sorry  lot  they  are,  all 
save  one.  Even  the  prince  himself  shows 
a  shabby  tail,  bereft  of  its  graceful  sickles  ; 
but  bte  threaten  are,  as  the  phrase  goes,  a 
sight  to  behold.  During  their  days  of  pros 
perity  my  gentleman  maintained  his  courtly 


298     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

demeanour,  but  the  present  situation  imposes 
too  great  a  strain  upon  his  nerves.  The 
only  lady  who  still  continues  to  dress  well, 
or  who  has  passed  through  the  day  of  small 
things,  I  am  not  sure  which,  is  permitted 
to  eat  from  the  same  dish  with  him,  and 
comes  forward  without  hesitation.  But 
woe  unto  the  miserable  dowdies  that  ven 
ture  to  pick  up  a  crumb  under  my  lord's 
eye.  They  are  put  to  the  right  about,  and 
sent  packing  without  ceremony. 

Alas  !  that  it  should  be  so.  Certainly  in 
so  well  regulated  a  family  the  motto  should 
be,  bear  and  forbear, — but  I  must  record 
the  situation  as  it  is.  And  let  us  have 
charity,  and  remember  that  we  are  neces 
sarily  subject  to  the  defects  of  our  virtues. 
Here  is  one  of  those  high-strung  cases 
where  culture  carries  its  own  penalty. 
There  are  many  such.  I  have  known  mu 
sical  people  surfer  much  from  performances 
from  which  I  was  ignorant  enough  to  thrill 
with  pleasure. 

OCTOBER  4,  1894. 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     299 


LIX. 

One-ery,  two-ery,  hickory  Ann, 
Phillis  arid  Phollis  and  Nicholas  John, 
Que-by,  Qua-by,  Sister  Mary, 
Single  'em,  Sangle  'em,  Buck  begone! 

IT  was  just  a  year  ago  yesterday  that  I 
wrote  the  first  of  these  encyclical  letters. 
As  then,  this  morning  was  bright  and 
sunny,  but  it  was  cold,  and  with  frost  in 
the  lowlands.  The  day  has  continued  ab 
solutely  cloudless,  save  just  enough  at  sun 
set  to  let  it  end  in  glory, — the  sky  a  dome 
of  perfect  blue. 

Looking  from  the  terrace,  I  see  that 
October  has  been  tinting  the  foliage  here 
and  there,  now  a  touch  of  yellow  or  orange 
en  a  sassafras,  and  now  scarlet  and  gold  on 
a  maple,  or  crimson  upon  sumach  or  wood 
bine.  In  the  steely  atmosphere  the  lines 
of  the  hills  come  out  sharp  and  clear,  and 
even  those  upon  my  farthest  horizon,  thirty 
miles  away,  approach  to  a  friendly  nearness. 

I  have  tried  many  of  the  roads  and  paths 
which  cross  the  valleys  and  climb  the  hills, 


300     FROM    A    NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE. 

•ever  finding  new  beauties  to  rejoice  in 
and  more  simple  marvels  to  wonder  at.  I 
trust  that  I  shall  continue  to  wander  into 
new  paths  this  many  a  day,  and  I  am  sure 
that  1  shall  not  exhaust  them,  for  their 
name  is  legion.  But  over  yonder  is  a  moun 
tain  of  which  I  shall  never  see  the  other 
side.  It  is  my  Carcassone.  I  am  sure 
that  this  mountain  conceals  wonderful 
things.  I  think  that  there  I  should  find 
the  happy  valley  for  which  weary  men  so 
long  have  sought.  But  I  shall  not  explore 
the  recesses  of  this  valley.  I  shall  con 
tinue,  I  hope,  year  after  year  to  look  up  to 
the  summit  of  the  mountain  and  picture  the 
wonders  that  the  valley  contains,  and  the 
joys  of  those  that  dwell  therein,  and  I  shall 
marvel  at  those  wonders,  and  luxuriate  in 
those  joys  so  long  as  I  live.  The  valley 
shall  be  to  me  the  valley  of  dreams. 

October  is  painting  the  drop  curtain,  and 
upon  the  JEolian  harp  at  the  window  the 
freshening  breeze  is  singing  the  swan  song 
of  the  waning  year.  And  thinking  of  the 
days  that  are  lately  gone,  of  the  new  friend 
ships  that  have  come  into  being,  never,  I 
am  sure,  to  be  ended,  and  of  the  purer  and 
truer  thoughts  that  have  come  out  of  the  in 
most  life  of  Nature;  touching  with  a  caress- 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND    HILLSIDE.      301 

ing  hand  the  old  gray  rocks  that  have  so 
kindly  lent  themselves  to  build  the  cottage 
walls,  and  gazing  out  upon  the  beautiful 
world,  which  is  already  so  old,  and  yet  so 
new  that  I  look  upon  it  each  day  with  a 
fresh  surprise,  it  seems  to  me  that  I  may 
fairly  say,  ' '  The  lines  are  fallen  unto  me 
in  pleasant  places  ;  yea  I  have  a  goodly 
heritage." 

A  year  has  slipped  away  into  the  silences, 
—  gone  to  lie  in  that  great  mausoleum  where 
the  vanished  years  shall  rest  for  aye. 

"  Sergeant,  call  the  roll." 

All  present,  or  accounted  for.  Our  high 
ways  and  our  byways  are  bright  again  with 
Tarn  o'  Shanter  and  scarf  and  ribbon  ;  the 
light-hearted  equestriennes  chase  each  other 
over  the  hills  ;  merry  voices  break  musi 
cally  upon  the  evening  air ;  the  blinds  are 
thrown  back,  the  cobwebs  brushed  away, 
the  pleasant  halls  of  learning  are  reopened. 
From  Holland  and  the  Swiss  lakes  and 
mountains,  and  from  the  green  lanes  of 
Merrie  England  come  these,  those  from 
neighbouring  city  or  town,  or  from  the 
boundless  West,  where  Nature  seems  to  do 
everything  with  a  lavish  hand,  and  upon  a 
mighty  scale  in  keeping  with  the  magnitude 
of  that  great  empire. 


302     FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAN'D    HILLSIDE. 

All  present,  or  accounted  for.  But  some 
are  scattered  to  the  four  winds  about  their 
various  missions,  and  some  tarry  under  the 
shadow  of  the  eternal  snows  which  lie  upon 
the  massive  flanks  and  upon  the  Aiguilles 
of  the  Alps.  And  here  and  there,  there  are 
fresh  graves,  and  there  are  some  which 
though  distant  are  often  present  to  our 
memory  which  are  not  fresh,  but  upon 
which  the  grass  grows  thick  and  long,  and 
over  which  the  eglantine  strews  its  petals. 
We  look  wistfully  into  the  vast  unknown, 
if  haply  we  may  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
presence  which  we  miss,  and  there  remains 
a  touch  of  the  old  heartache,  but  we  close 
up  the  ranks,  and  feel  more  tenderly  the  ties 
that  bind  us  to  those  that  are  left. 

As  through  the  land  at  eve  we  went, 

And  pluck'd  the  ripen  'd  ears, 
We  fell  out,  my  wife  and  I, 
O,  we  fell  out,  I  know  not  why, 

And  kiss'd  again  with  tears. 
For  when  we  came  where  lies  the  child 

We  lost  in  other  years, 
There  above  the  little  grave, 
O,  there  ahove  the  little  grave, 

We  kiss'd  again  with  tears. 

My  friend  once  told  me:  "Old  fellow, 
you  should  not  wear  your  heart  upon  your 


FROM   A   NEW   ENGLAND   HILLSIDE.     303 

sleeve.  Any  one  could  see  from  your  last 
note  that  you  had  been  going  through  deep 
waters." 

Ah,  but  suppose  you  must  ? 

Longfellow  says,  — 

Look  then  into  thine  heart,  and  write  ! 
and  Lowell :  — 

"  I  consider  every  poem  I  write  (whether 
I  publish  it  or  not)  as  a  letter  to  all  those 
whom  I  personally  hold  dear.  I  feel  that  I 
have  made  a  truer  communication  of  myself 
so  than  in  any  other  way  —  that  is,  that  I 
have  in  this  way  written  my  friends  a  let 
ter  from  the  truer  and  better  J.  R.  L.,  who 
resides  within,  and  often  at  a  great  dis 
tance  from,  the  external  man,  who  has 
some  good  qualities,  but  whose  procrasti 
nation  is  enough  to  swamp  them  all." 

Shall  we  write  the  things  that  we  feel, 
or  the  things  that  we  do  not  feel  ?  I  pray 
you,  let  us  not  fear  to  be  honest.  Do  not 
be  a  cry-baby  if  you  can  help  it,  but  if  you 
love  your  friend,  tell  him  so  ;  if  he  is  in 
trouble,  put  your  arm  about  him ;  and  if 
you  get  nipped  between  the  upper  and  the 
nether  millstones,  do  not  hesitate  to  let 
him  know  the  fact. 


ME.  P.  MABION  CRAWFORD'S  WORKS. 


THE  RALSTONS. 

A  SEQUEL  TO  "  KATHARINE  LAUDERDALE." 

Two  volumes,  bound  in  polished  buckram,   in 
box,  $2 .00. 


KATHARINE   LAUDERDALE. 

Illustrated.    Two  volumes.    Small  izmo.    Buck 
ram.    $2.00. 


UNIFORM  EDITION  OF  MR.  F.  MARION 
CRAWFORD'S   NOVELS. 

Cloth.  $1.00  each. 


Pietro  Ghisleri. 
Don  Orsino. 

A  sequel  to  "  Saraci- 
nesca "  and  "  Sant' 
Ilario." 

The  Three  Fates. 
The  Witch  of  Prague. 
Khaled. 
A  Cigarette-Maker's 

Romance. 
Sant'  Ilario.      A  sequel 

to  "  Saracinesca." 
Greifenstein. 
With  the  Immortals. 


To  Leeward. 

Marion  Darche. 

A  Roman  Singer. 

An  American  Politi 
cian. 

Paul  Patoff. 

Marzio's  Crucifix. 

Saracinesca. 

A  Tale  of  a  Lonely 
Parish. 

Zoroaster. 

Dr.  Claudius. 

Mr.  Isaacs. 

Children  of  the  King. 


MACMILLAN  &  CO., 
66  FIFTH   AVENUE,  NEW  YORK. 

I 


THE 
TEMPLE  SHAKESPEARE. 


MESSRS.  MACMILLAN  &  Co.  have  in  course  of  publi 
cation  a  new  edition  of  Shakespeare's  Works:  two 
volumes  are  to  be  published  per  month;  each  volume 
is  to  contain  a  complete  play  carefully  printed  in  black 
and  red  on  hand-made  paper;  great  care  has  been  de 
voted  to  every  detail  of  production. 

Mr.  Israel  Gollancz  has  been  entrusted  with  the 
editorial  portion  of  the  work,  and  will  contribute  to 
each  volume  a  concise  preface,  a  full  glossary,  and  brief 
notes. 

Mr.  Walter  Crane  is  designing  the  title-pages,  each 
with  a  vignette  indictive  in  its  treatment  of  the  play  to 
which  it  belongs.  Each  volume  will  have  a  frontispiece 
in  photogravure;  either  one  of  the  accepted  portraits 
of  Shakespeare  or  some  topographical  illustration  con 
nected  with  his  life. 

The  Text  used  is  that  of  the  "  Globe  "  edition,  but 
carefully  amended  from  the  latest  "  Cambridge  "  edition. 
The  numbering  of  the  lines  will  be  identical  with  that 
in  the  "Globe"  edition,  so  that  the  references  so 
commonly  made  to  that  edition  will  also  apply  to  the 
"  Temple  "  edition. 

Hand-made  Paper  especially  manufactured  by  Van 
Gelder  will  be  used,  and  each  page  will  have  the  Act 
and  Scene  printed  in  red  for  ease  of  reference. 

The  Binding  will  be  in  two  styles:  Limp  cloth  at 
45  cents,  and  paste-grain  roan  at  65  cents,  per  volume; 
and  special  attention  will  be  given  to  make  the  binding 
strong  and  at  the  same  time  flexible. 


MACMILLAN   &  CO., 
66   FIFTH   AVENUE,  NEW  YORK. 


THE  IRIS  SERIES 

OF   ILLUSTRATED   COPYRIGHT   NOVELS. 


TRYPHENA  IN  LOVE, 

Bv  WALTER   RAYMOND, 

Author  of"  Love  and  Quiet  Life,"  etc. 

ILLUSTRATED   BY   J.   WALTER    WEST. 

i6mo.    Cloth.    75  cents. 


A    LOST    ENDEAVOUR. 

BY  GUY   BOOTHBY, 

Author  of  "  A  Bid  for  Fortune." 

ILLUSTRATED  BY  STANLEY  L.  WOOD. 

i6mo.    Cloth.    75  cents. 


MAUREEN'S    FAIRING. 

BY  JANE   BARLOW, 

Author  of"  Irish  Idylls,"  "  The  End  of  Elfmtown,"  etc. 
Illustrated.    i6mo.    Cloth.    75  cents. 


AN  EXPERIMENT   IN 
ALTRUISM. 

BY  ELIZABETH    HASTINGS. 
i6mo.    Cloth.    75  cents. 


MACMILLAN   &   CO. 

66  FIFTH   AVENUE,    NEW   YORK. 

3 


THE    STICKIT    MINISTER, 

AlfD  SOME  COMMON  MEN. 

BY  S.  R.  CROCKETT. 

umo.    Cloth.    $1.50. 


A  New  Novel  by  the  Author  of  "  The  Stickit  Minister." 

THE   RAIDERS. 

Being  Some  Passages  in  the  Life  of  John  Faa, 

Lord  and  Earl  of  Little  Egypt. 

BY   S.    R.    CROCKETT,   Author  of  "The   Stickit 

Minister,  and  Some  Common  Men." 

ismo.     Cloth.     $1.50. 


THE  VAGABONDS. 

A  HOVEL. 

BY  MARGARET  L.  WOODS,  Author  of  "  A  Village 
Tragedy,"  "  Lyrics  and  Ballads,"  "  Esther 

Vanhomringh,"  etc. 
i2mo.    Cloth.    $1.50. 


THE  KING  OF  SCHNORRERS. 

Grotesques  and  Fantasies.    BY  I.  ZANGWILL,  Author 

of"  Children  of  the  Ghetto,"  etc. 
Illustrated.    iamo.    Cloth.    $1.50. 


CHILDREN  OF   THE   GHETTO. 

A  Study  of  a  Peculiar  People. 

BY  I.  ZANGWILL. 
umo.      Cloth.      $1.50. 


CELIBATES. 

BY  GEORGE  MOORE,  Author  of"  Esther  Waters,"etc. 
tamo.    Cloth.    $1.50. 


MACMILLAN   &  CO., 

66   FIFTH    AVENUE,   NEW  YORK. 

4 


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